Harry Potter and the Other's List
by M.B.Liddle
Summary: On a dark and fateful night, Harry first learned that he was a wizard. But what if he was visited by more than the giant, Hagrid that night? How would his struggle against the forces of darkness change? Find out in the tale of The Other's List.
1. Prologue

Harry Potter and The Other's List

Prologue

BOOM

The Other twisted from where he lay on the floor. His elbow smacked against the stone floor, sending shooting pains up his arm. But his room was definitely carpeted. He looked around blearily, trying to get a good look at his surroundings but finding the room blurry and out of focus.

BOOM

This second thunderous sound was accompanied by a flash of pale light. The Other reached out in front of him and snatched up what felt like a pair of large, round glasses. His hands, almost as if possessed with a will of their own, quickly shoved then against a nose much smaller than it should have been. The inside of a dingy hut snapped into focus.

BOOM

The third boom was accompanied by a tremendous splintering sound. The door of the small shack fell to the floor with a crash. A massive silhouette filled the entire doorway. The Other realized that a deep and angry voice was yelling from somewhere behind him.

"I'm warning you, I'm armed!" The figure in the doorway seemed unimpressed by the angry man's words and stepped through the doorway, pausing only to lift the door easily back into place.

"Don't suppose you could fix a cuppa tea do y'? Only it's been a bit o' a rough journey." Silence filled the shack. The entire scene seemed awfully familiar to The Other; he knew it back to front. But this was impossible. This couldn't be real.

"Budge up yer great lump." The giant man had sidled across the room towards the sofa, where another large form lay. The Other's mind rebelled against what was happening before his very eyes. He must be dreaming, he thought to himself.

"And here's Harry." The man said cheerfully, looking The Other straight in the eye. The Other slowly stood to meet the giant's eye. His arms looked much skinnier than he remembered as he pushed himself to his feet. That was when it stuck him; he was far too short. He looked down to find that not only was he shorter, but looked as if he had somehow lost about ten years of growth.

"Yes you." The giant said kindly, apparently misinterpreting the shock of finding yourself inhabiting the wrong body as surprise that he had been recognized. "Or did y' think I wouldn't recognize that Potter hair of yer's" _Potter_ The word rattled about The Other's head. 'I knew it,' he thought, 'but this can't be happening'

"I…I.." he stammered.

"An' of course yer Mum's eyes," the giant who could be none other than _the_ Hagrid, "but you were jus' a baby when I last saw you."

"There must be some mistake." The Other managed to force out in a voice that was far higher, and possessing a British accent that his years away at college had managed to excise from his own. He clapped a hand to his mouth.

"A mistake?" Hagrid asked with a booming laugh. "Course it's not a mistake. Y' think I couldn't pick James's son out in an instant? Anyway, a very happy birthday to y' Harry. I got som'et for you 'ere." The giant man reached into one of his massive pockets and drew a small card box wrapped in a thin green ribbon. The Other peeked inside to see a cake covered in sloppily applied icing.

"I… thanks." He managed. "Do I… Do I know you?" he asked after a pregnant silence.

"Oh, acourse you won't recognize me. After all, you were just a babe when I last saw you. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." Hagrid took The Other's arm and shook it mightily.

"Hogwarts?" The Other almost whispered.

"Yes, Hogwarts. That reminds me, here y' go." He withdrew a large envelope from within the depths of his coat. The Other turned it over in his hands, revealing neat, emerald green ink addressing the letter to Harry Potter.

"This isn't possible." The Other started before being cut off by a harsh bark from the corner of the room. the man who could only be Vernon Dursley stood shaking, the rifle in his hands held out in front of him as if to ward of the massive man.

"He's not going!" the red faced man roared. "I won't pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks!" Exactly as The Other expected, Hagrid surged to his feet, brandishing a pink umbrella he had drawn from his overcoat.

"Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!" Vernon shrank back from the unusually threatening umbrella and almost dropped the rifle. It shook in his hands as he tried to stutter a rebuttal to the huge man's challenge. Finally, The Other spoke up.

"Hagrid, the things on this list, where will I get any of them?" He pulled the school supplies list from the thick packet of parchment. Hagrid's angry face slowly softened as he turned towards dark haired boy. Shortly, his rage seemingly forgotten, he let loose a small chuckle.

"Why, London, o' course. I'll take you there firs' thing tomorrow morning." This upset the Dursleys something awful. But their objections where quashed harshly by Hagrid's booming voice. The Other sank slowly to the floor as the half giant argued with the large mustachioed man and his wife. The fact that they hadn't mentioned Harry being magical seemed to upset him greatly. But then it would, The Other thought, this is just like the books. He remembered reading this very conversation when he was younger. A massive hand closed around his shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin.

"You alright?" Hagrid was looking down at him, his eyebrows drawn close over his twinkling eyes.

"Yeah, it's just a lot to take in." The Other said truthfully. It wasn't every day you woke up inside a work of fiction.

"Its prob'ly best you get some rest. It'll be a long day tomorrow. Here, you can take my coat. Don't worry if it moves a little, might be a couple a dormice in one o' the pockets." The Other accepted the great overcoat. It did indeed wriggle slightly under his grip. He nodded his head in thanks as Hagrid leaned back into the abused sofa. The Dursleys had retreated back out of the room. The Other crawled under the coat, his head awhirl. 'This can't be real.' Was his first thought, although the more he dwelt on it, the more real his situation felt. The ground below him, the warmth of the coat, it all felt more real than any mere dream he remembered. Although as he thought about it, a sinking feeling gripped him. He couldn't remember ever having dreams. But that couldn't be right, ever since he was a child he had experienced that same recurring nightmare, that one with the… But he couldn't recall what had so frightened him, only that he had torn out of his room and into the arms of his… Aunt? But why would she have comforted him, she wouldn't even have let him out of his cupboard. 'No,' he thought to himself, 'That was Harry, not me, I'm not…' The feeling of losing himself terrified him, filling him with the horrifying sensation of a sucking drain in his mind. Then, suddenly gripped by the singular desire to hold on, he began scrabbling in the pockets of Hagrid's coat. Surely he had to have, yes here it was. The Other pulled a very crumpled but thankfully blank piece of parchment, a broken quill, and a cracked and dry bottle of ink. Even as memories and thoughts fled his mind, he desperately held on to a few scattered bits of information, information he, or he supposed Harry, would need. He began to whisper them under his breath, willing himself to remember as he wet the dried ink with his thumb and began to write. He wrote on even as he forgot why he was writing. At long last he fell into unconsciousness, the quill slipping from his hand while the parchment became clenched in his other fist.


	2. Chapter 1: The Other's List

Chapter 1: The Other's List

Harry awoke with a start as a regal looking owl soared through the open window, depositing a newspaper on the floor. Sun shined in from a clear sky, almost as if it had never been hidden behind the torrential rain that had covered it the night before. Harry scratched his head. What had happened the night before? Last he remembered he was blowing out the candles on his hand-drawn birthday cake. He propped himself up on his elbows, an action that caused the overcoat he was lying under the slip from his shoulders. Memories from the night before drifted before his eyes, distant, as if viewed second hand. He had found out that he was a wizard, that he could do magic, that he was not going to have to spend his days trying to avoid being flushed down the toilets at Stonewall. He had felt… How had he felt? Confused? Excited? The only emotion Harry could recall from the previous night was a sense of dread that he was somehow in the wrong place.

The owl did not allow him any more thought on the matter, it stuck out the leather pouch on its leg and hooted loudly.

"Pay 'im." Came a gravelly voice from behind Harry. He looked around to see a giant man half dozing on the ruined sofa. "He wants a Knut, one o' the bronze coins. Check the pocket in my coat." Harry turned away from the man and reached out with his right hand to grab the coat. A crumpled ball of parchment fell from his grasp. Instinctively he shoved it into the pocket of his pants and began to rummage in the coat's many pockets. The first pocket turned up a ball of string and a penknife half the size of Harry's forearm. The second pocket contained what looked like a cluster of fat beetles and a crumpled shopping list for things like flesh eating slug repellant and raw dragon steaks. Finally, at the bottom of the largest pocket, Harry found a handful of small bronze coins. He slipped one into the leather pouch of the owl and it took off almost immediately. He handed the paper to the now awake giant. 'Hagrid,' a voice in his mind firmly stated.

"Hmm…" Hagrid stuck the tip of his tongue out as he began to read. Harry shoved the string, beetles, and shopping list back into their respective pockets, but paused as he picked up the knife. It was a roughly made folding blade, the handle made of a dull greyed wood. On one side a dragon had been scratched into the wood. For all its simplicity, Harry found it strangely beautiful. As he turned it over in his hands, it shrank until it fit neatly into one hand. Harry almost dropped it in shock.

"Found somet' intrestin' have you?" Hagrid was looking at Harry with a smile on his face.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, "It just fell out while I was looking for the Knut." He made the shove the knife back into the pocket, but Hagrid made a dismissive gesture.

"No problem Harry. In fact, you can 'ave it. I've been meaning to get a new one anyway." Harry blanched.

"I couldn't," he stammered, but Hagrid raised a hand.

"'Course you can. Think of it as a Birthday present from me to you." Harry swelled with gratitude at the man's words. He had never received a birthday present before. He turned the knife in his hands before flicking it open. He almost let loose a gasp. As roughly as the handle was made, the blade itself was surprisingly well-wrought. It shone brightly in the early August sunshine. "That's goblin-made that is," Hagrid expounded genially, "Ain't nuthin' finer. An enchanted too, you see. Always fits the needs of the 'older." Harry closed the knife and slipped it into his pocket. It ran against the balled up parchment. Harry tugged the parchment out and began to flatten it out. It was a list, at first rather neatly written in small lettering. As the ink marched down the page it became steadily messier, as if written in a hurry. The letters also changed, changing from the small block print to Harry's familiar scrawl. Harry held the parchment close to his face. The first entry on the list was the longest and most coherent. It read simply: "Voldemort wants to kill you. It is prophesied that either of you must die at the hand of another." Harry almost dropped the list. He quickly looked up to find Hagrid busying himself elsewhere and the Dursleys conspicuously absent despite the late hour of the morning. He looked down at the list again, carefully reading each entry in turn.

Voldemort wants to kill you. It is prophesied that either of you must die at the hand of another.

Hogwarts is not always safe, learn to defend yourself.

Work hard, especially in potions.

Learn Occlumency

Don't worry about Snape.

The monster in the Chamber is a basilisk

Sirius is innocent

save cedric

Harry stared at the least. Almost none of it made sense, Harry didn't know who Voldemort, or Snape, or Cedric were, or what Occlumency was. He knew about Hogwarts, and supposed Potions was a class there, but didn't know where this 'Chamber' was, or what the monster it held was like. And above all these things, he had just been told someone wanted him dead, and if he wanted to survive he would have to kill this Voldemort. It was a lot to take in all at once. Was this some sick joke of Hagrid's? He didn't seem the type. What really worried Harry though, was the fact he had the strangest feeling that everything on this list was true, could be trusted. He was pulled from his thoughts once again by Hagrid's inquiring words.

"Ready to go 'arry?" Harry nodded mutely and stuffed the parchment into his empty pants pocket. Hagrid led him outside and towards the small wooden boat the Dursleys had taken to the island.

"This should do." Hagrid said as he stepped into the small boat. Harry settled across from him. "You don't mind if I speed this up a tadge, do you Harry? Only I'm not supposed to be doing magic."

"Go ahead," Harry said, mildly interested in seeing some real magic, though not as much as he thought he should be. "I won't tell." Hagrid grasped the pink umbrella he had threatened Uncle Dursley with and tapped the side of the boat while muttering under his breath. The small boat suddenly gave a mighty heave, and they were off towards the distant shore. As they neared the shoreline, Hagrid began to tell Harry about the wizarding world, it's customs and currency, and about their destination, Diagon Alley.

"So you're telling me there's an entire community of magical people living in the middle of London?" Harry asked incredulously. "How haven't they been seen yet?"

"Well you see," Hagrid answered, "There's these laws keep wizarding folks from being too obvious in fron o' muggles, that's non-magic folk like your Aunt an' Uncle. On top of that, It's hidden, see, only wizards and witches can see the entrance, an you need a wand to get in." at this he glanced furtively at his umbrella.

"So once I get my wand, I'll be able to go there any time I want?" Harry asked. He'd much prefer the company of other wizards to that of his cousin, even if it was only to be able to walk around without being treated as a freak.

"Well," Hagrid began, becoming a little flustered, "I suspect most of the year you'll be at Howarts, but if you can get your Uncle to take you, no one's going to stop you from poking around a bit." Harry's thoughts of an escape from the Dursleys came crashing down as he tried to imagine asking Uncle Vernon for a ride to go wander out in an all wizard community.

"Hagrid, how do wizards get around? How did you get onto the island last night, I didn't see another boat."

"Well, I flew," Harry's eyebrows rose, "but don't think you can just go flying to London. No, there's the rules. Could be spotted." Hagrid nodded with conviction. "Don't worry yerself though Harry, I'm sure the hols will fly by." Harry remained unconvinced, but he let the matter drop as the boat bumped up against the shore. Hagrid sent it back towards the tiny shack on the rock with a tap from his pink umbrella.

…

Hagrid strode down the busy streets of London with purpose. Harry struggled to keep up on legs that felt just a little too short for him. The pair of them drew many eyes, the huge Hagrid and Harry in his too-large clothes. Harry was lost deep in thought as they wove down the packed city streets. It had been a while before Harry noticed that Hagrid had stopped in front of the oddest building Harry had ever seen. It didn't seem to match the buildings around, it was painted a faded black and gold, an old and cracked sign hung above the door named it "The Leaky Cauldron." Harry noticed that everyone else seemed to ignore the strange building, as if he and Hagrid stood in front of an empty lot.

"Well, let's, um, let's go in then." A hand at Harry's back led him towards the door. "Now I want to warn you Harry, you're kind of famous in the wizarding world. Folks might act a little funny 'round you." Harry was about to ask why when he remembered the list.

"It's because of Voldemort, isn't it?" he asked. Hagrid's face paled.

"Now where did you 'ear that name?" he asked in hushed tones. He drew Harry away from the door. "Nevermind, jus' listen 'ere Harry. I don' know where you 'eard that name, but folks don' like it, they don' like it one bit. Jus, jus keep it to yourself, I'll explain it to you later, ok?" Harry nodded, surprised that a simple name had stirred such a reaction.

The room was dark as Harry stepped across the threshold. Smoke swirled in dizzying patterns as men in bright cloaks bent heads close together in conversation. Harry walked confidently among the tables. If he was famous, as Hagrid had told him, he shouldn't have any trouble in this bar. Unless, he thought with a twinge, one of these men was Voldemort. But then, with the reaction the mere mention of his name had caused, Harry supposed that idle conversation would be impossible in the man's presence.

And then, all of a sudden, something odd happened. The scar on his forehead, the one he had been told he had received in the car crash that had claimed his parent's lives, prickled slightly. He reached up and brushed the hair that covered it aside to scratch at it. The effect on the barroom was instantaneous. Voices hushed and then died down. Everyone in the room appeared transfixed by the thin lightning bolt shape on his forehead. A voice inside him told him to run and hide, to escape the unasked for attention. A stronger voice told him this was simply the way things would be from now on, that he would have to deal with this if he wanted to enter the magical world. He liked this other voice, it sounded strong and mature. He looked up at Hagrid, who gave him a slight wink and motioned for him to keep going. Harry stepped forward, a move that at once seemed to break the spell that held the room silent. From seemingly every corner of the room witches ad wizards came forth to either shake his hand or offer him thanks. He accepted the attention with the warmest smile he could manage; he was still unnerved by the sudden press of bodies. It was more people than he had spoken to in his whole life and none of them had an unkind word for him. It was a nice change of pace, he decided.

The old barman greeted Hagrid with a hearty "The usual then Hagrid?" Hagrid politely declined. "Can't Tom, Hogwarts business you know." He motioned towards Harry.

"Harry Potter, bless my soul. I should have known it were someone like you caused all that commotion." Harry followed Hagrid past a turban clad man towards the back door. His scar gave one last prickle before the door closed behind them and they were faced with and alley empty but for a pair of miserable looking dustbins.

"Hagrid…" Harry began, but before he could finish the huge man had tapped out a pattern in the dirty bricks. Before Harry's eyes bricks seemed to move and revolve until they formed a great archway onto a cobblestone street. Harry was battered almost immediately with a veritable barrage of new sights, sounds, and smells. Shops lined a narrow road that twisted back and forth until it ended at the steps of a great white marble edifice marked with golden letters a foot high; Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Hagrid followed his eyes and smiled.

"That'll be our firs' stop, Gringotts. Thas' were your gold's kept. T'aint no safer place to keep somet' than in Gringotts, 'cept maybe Hogwarts that is." Together they moved towards the bank, Hagrid cutting a path through the crowd as he had done in London and Harry following. Harry made sure to cover his scar back up with his hair, no reason to cause a scene out in public. They moved quickly down the street in this fashion until they silently passed through the massive golden doors into the bank's main lobby. Short, ugly creatures sat at the high tables that lined the hall. They all seemed very busy either counting coins or writing in massive ledgers.

"Are these goblins?" Harry asked under his breath. Hagrid only nodded. At the end of the hall sat an especially old looking goblin busy reading from a long roll of parchment. Hagrid approached the desk and cleared his throat. The goblin didn't look up.

"Do you have business here?" he enquired in a raspy voice that sounded unpleasantly as if he was being strangled.

"I'm here to bring Mr. Harry Potter to his vault." Hagrid said.

"And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?" the old goblin asked. Hagrid patted around his pockets until he pulled a tiny golden key on a string from one of the smaller pockets that lined his back. There was a little back and forth between the two as Harry looked around distractedly. He got the sense that this place would be ungodly hard to break into. But that would be a good thing wouldn't it? He was brought back to present matters as a younger goblin approached.

"Griphook here is goin' to take you to your vault, Harry." Hagrid said with a smile. The three of them walked through the set of double doors in the back of the room. They led to a narrow hallway that then gave way to a rough hewn tunnel. This tunnel opened out into what looked like a miniature train station. A strange golden cart stood on suspended rails.

"Sit, please." The goblin Griphook spook in short, curt sentences. The cart was in motion almost as soon as they had all taken seats. It moved along its rails at breakneck speeds, the tunnel wall flashed past Harry in a blur of grey rock, occasionally punctuated by dimly lit alcoves that ended in round iron doors. Harry gasped as the cart began a sudden decent into an open cavern.

"Gringotts goes deep underground Harry," Hagrid must have seen Harry's shocked expression, "Deeper even than the Ministry of Magic." Harry looked over to ask a question about what exactly the Ministry of Magic was, but noticed that the ride through the cavern was making Hagrid appear rather green around the gills. Harry himself felt rather ill as the cart plunged ever deeper into the network of crisscrossing caves and tunnels. Looking over the side of the cart, he felt his heart hitch in his chest for a brief moment. He had never been especially afraid of heights, even that time he had ended up on top of the school roof while attempting to flee from Dudley and his gang. But now the very idea of how far away the floor of the cave they were currently zooming through was filled him with terror. He quickly snapped his eyes straight forward and tried to ignore the large and active butterflies currently inhabiting his stomach.

"Vault number 687." Griphook stated simply before hopping out of the cart. Harry and Hagrid were both quite glad to follow, Hagrid leaning heavily on a column. "Key, please."

The goblin accepted the tiny golden key from Harry's outstretched hand and placed it in the iron door's lock. It clicked into place and the sound of a number of latches unlocking could be faintly heard through the thick metal. The door swung open with a whoosh of released air. The sight that met Harry almost knocked him over. Although covered in dust, the unmistakable glint of gold shone in the dim light of the vault. Harry found himself trying to calculate just how much gold this was, but the stacks defied counting.

And it was all his. The goblin beside him passed him a leather pouch without a word.

"Didn't think your parents would leave you with nuthin' now did you 'arry." Hagrid had caught up with them and had reclaimed most of his usual ruddy colour. "Let me take that for you." He tugged the pouch lightly from Harry's hands and tossed a few handfuls of gold, silver, and bronze coins into it before passing it back. "That should get you your school things an' leave a little left over."

Harry nodded, but as soon as Hagrid's back was turned he scooped an extra handful of the gold coins into the bag, disguising his motion with a small stumble. The list had said he had to prepare himself, and he knew the list should be trusted. Hagrid didn't seem to suspect a thing, but Griphook latched him with an appraising eye. If he noticed Harry's little maneuver, he kept it to himself.

After closing and locking the door, it was back on the cart. Rather than taking them back to the surface as Harry had hoped, it spiraled even deeper into the vaults. Harry could have sworn he has seen gouts of flame coming from some of the deeper tunnels. At long last they stopped at a vault marked "713." The vault sat on the edge of a narrow ledge.

"I'll just stay in the cart, alright?" Harry was trying very hard not to look down.

"Can' say I blame yer Harry. I won't be two winks." And with that he stepped from the cart along with the goblin. When he returned he was patting one of his front pockets furtively. The ride back up to the surface was mercifully smooth.

Harry thanked Griphook as the goblin led him out into the brightly lit lobby. The goblin merely looked back at him dispassionately. The walk to the golden front doors passed silently, until Harry stepped forward into the sunshine. He drew the school equipment list from the pocket of his jeans.

"So Hagrid, what do you think we should get first?"

"Well, yer gonna want yer wand o' course, and then maybe some school robes. An' if it's alright with you, I'm gonna have to take meself off to the old pub for a little pick me up."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Yeah I can look after myself for a while." Hagrid looked at him with gratitude.

"Jus' don't go wanderin' off now." And he hurried away into the crowds of witches and wizards. Harry found himself alone in front of the imposing bank building. From where he stood he could see a plain looking old shop with "Olivander's" written above the door in skinny gold letters. A single wand sat in a display case in the window. Harry made that his first destination.

The bell above the door tinkled as Harry pushed open the door. He was immediately met with a medley of woody smells masked by musty cardboard and an oddly spicy smell that Harry assumed was part of the wand making process. Narrow boxes stood stacked on every flat surface save the cramped counter.

"Hello?" Harry called.

"Good afternoon." Harry spun to find the voice. A bespectacled man stood watching him from behind a stack of especially old looking boxes. "I was wondering when I might be seeing you, Harry Potter." Harry reached for his forehead. "Yes, I know who _you_ are Mr. Potter. You look much like your father when he first came in here to purchase his wand, although you have your dear mother's eyes." The man said with a wistful look on his face.

"You sold my parent's there wands?" Harry asked.

"Why of course, I have been selling wands for a very long time Mr. Potter, a very long time. Now let's try to find one that suits you. Here, try this one." He had drawn a long box from the pile in front of him as he approached the counter. He pulled out a pale stick of wood, roughly a foot in length my Harry's approximation. Harry took the wand when it was proffered by Olivander. It sat inert in his hand. "Perhaps not." Olivander said kindly.

Over the next few minute, Harry tried wand after wand. He wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but Olivander ended up pulling each wand from his hand as soon as he had gotten a good hold of it. He tried a wand similar to his mother's, his father's, and eventually, Olivander stood before him with a box of deepest black.

"Perhaps…" He seemed to cradle the box slightly. "Try this one, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple." Harry took the wand. At first there was nothing. Then, as if a fire had run up his arm, Harry was filled with a strange warmth. Olivander seemed to smile, until the wand gave a sharp buck and leapt from Harry's grasp. Olivander caught it and placed it back in its box.

"Curious, very curious." Was all he had to say.

"What was that?" Harry asked, "Did I do something wrong?" Olivander shook his head.

"I have never seen a wand react this way Mr. Potter. It is usually the case that a wand will accept a new master or else lie inert. This wand seemed at first to accept your hand, yet for some reason reacted to your magic. Such a thing I have heard of, it usually speaks of an unstable magical core. But don't worry…" He said as a look of worry crossed Harry's features.

"Such things are usually grown out of with age. Here, I have a wand from an esteemed colleague in Germany that is especially suited for young wizards with your condition. I do not make them myself you see, it is quite rare, but I keep one on hand should the need arise. Cherry and firecrab essence, ten inches and quite sturdy. Normally it is rather an unstable combination but it is known to react quite well with an unruly core."

Harry accepted the deep red wand. A handle had been cut elegantly into the bottom third with the wood extending beyond it cut into a tapered pyramidal shape. A warmth once again filled his arm, not quite as intense as the wand before, but this wand made no bid for freedom.

"Excellent," the old man said, clapping his hands together, "that will be ten galleons, cost of importing you understand."

Harry made his purchase and left the wand shop. Hagrid had said he should head to buy robes, most likely at a shop called Madam Malkin's, where Harry saw a blonde boy with pinched features being fitted by a matronly looking women. Harry had begun to walk towards the shop when his eye was caught by a shop window piled high with books. The List had told him to learn to defend himself, and a few extra spell books would most likely help in that endeavor. Harry changed course to steer himself into the musty book store, thinking it would be easier to explain to Hagrid why he had bought books before robes would be easier than explaining why he had taken up a sudden interest in advanced defensive magic.

A brassy bell chimed as he walked in. A number of adults and a great deal of children about his age were moving about the store. Harry looked down at his list and found the first book, _Transfiguration for Beginners_. He found an isle marked "Transfiguration" and headed there. He would have to be quick if he was to find and make all of his purchases before Hagrid returned from the Leaky Cauldron. His worries were abated though, as he passed a table that seemed to have been prepared for first year Hogwarts students. Harry quickly scooped up one of each, plus the suggested _Potions Primer_ that had been placed nearby by a helpful shop clerk. With the heavy textbooks in arm, Harry then headed towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts section. He didn't want to buy anything too serious as to arouse suspicion, so he picked up a copy of _Dueling for Dummies_ and _Defensive Magical Theory _by Wilbert Slinkhard. He brought the books up to the counter before remembering one of the entries on The List. As the clerk at the counter began to ring up his books, Harry cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, but do you have any books on Occlumency?" The clerk looked confused and began to shake his head, but seemed to think better of it. He called over the old shopkeeper and repeated Harry's question.

"Goodness, Occlumency, no we don't carry any books on Occlumency." Harry's face fell. "We do however; have access to a wide variety of suppliers who will be able to furnish your request. I will warn you though, it will be rather expensive. See, such books are rare and the branch of magic itself rather obscure."

"I can pay!" Harry said quickly. The clerk seemed unconvinced. Harry poured a pile of gold from his pouch, which did wonders to the shopkeeper's temperament. He drew out an order form for Harry to fill out and counted out the appropriate number of gold Galleons. This left the pile rather woefully short on gold, though hopefully Harry could get by on the remaining stacks of silver and bronze. He collected the money back into the pouch and handed the form over to the shopkeeper.

"Alright Mr." his eyebrows shot up as he read the head of the form, "Potter, we should have the book you requested delivered to you by owl before you go off to school, but in case we miss you it will have instructions to deliver to you with the morning post. Have a very good day Mr. Potter." Harry shook his hand and gathered the freshly wrapped textbooks by the handily tied string and stepped back onto the alley.

He headed almost immediately for Madam Malkin's, hoping to beat Hagrid back there and avoid explaining his absence. Fate was not in his favour though. Hagrid's unmistakable form stood head and shoulders over the crowd as he peered into the robe shop, two rather large ice creams held in his hands. He had obviously been looking for Harry for a while, as they were quite melted.

"Looking for me?" Harry tried to put as much innocent playfulness into his voice as he could manage, but it did little to placate the huge man.

"'arry, what did I tell you about runnin' off? What would 'appen if some dark wizard dragged you off, hmm?" Harry at first rankled at being treated like a child, but thought better of it. The expression on Hagrid's face was more worry than anger.

"I'm sorry Hagrid, it's just I wanted to make sure I had all my books before I went buying other things, and look, I got my wand." He drew the cherry rod from his pocket.

"Jus' don't do it again, alright?" Hagrid seemed to deflate under his bushy beard. He passed the less melted ice cream cone to Harry. "I thought you might like somet' on yer birthday." They enjoyed what was left of the ice cream in silence outside the robe shop. After they had finished licking the left of the cream from their fingers, they went in to buy a full set of Hogwarts robes. Harry wanted to buy a set of more casual clothing to go with it, but though better of it when he remembered some of the more pricey purchases he had made earlier.

The rest of the morning passed quickly in a flurry of storefronts and packages. Harry bought a set of scales, a cauldron, ink, quills, and parchment, and after a visit to the apothecary that used up all but a few silver coins, he stood outside Eyelop's Owl Emporium. Hagrid had mentioned that it would be incredibly useful to have his own post owl, but with the distinct lack of weight in his money pouch and another trip into Gringotts out of the question, he sadly turned to leave the magical avenue. On his way out beside Hagrid, they passed what looked from the outside like a sports shop. While Harry had no real interest in sports, magical or otherwise, the excitedly chattering crowd drew his attention. They seemed to have been drawn to a _Nimbus 2000_ racing broom, which Harry supposed was ridden in a game called "Quidditch" from what he overheard. One thing Harry was sure of, they would never catch _him_ up in the air on something as silly as a broom.


	3. Chapter 2: The Ride From King's Cross

Chapter 2: The Ride from King's Cross

Harry lay spread out on the small bed that he had come to call his own at the Dursley home. In front of him lay his Potions textbook, which Harry was going through the arduous process of annotating. Harry had been studying hard ever since he had returned to the Dursleys', poring over his spell books with relish. Uncle Vernon had demanded that Harry's new school trunk along with all of his books be locked away under the stairs until Harry had told him that Hagrid would surely want him to study hard over the summer, and that wizards had ways of getting in contact with other wizards no matter how far apart they were. Harry had neglected to mention that this way was an owl, one of which he hadn't been able to afford. He had also failed to make it clear that underage wizards were not allowed to perform magic outside of school. Harry dropped the quill he had been using down on the opened pages. The _Potions Primer_ had been a huge help with its list of common ingredients categorized by effect and brief overview on how certain preparation methods would affect the final outcome of a brewed potion.

Harry had been going through the assigned textbook and scribbling down anything he noticed could be substituted or changed. The subject of potions fascinated him, what had at first seemed like simple cooking instructions had turned out to be a complex process. Harry couldn't wait to start experimenting a little with the simpler potions, although he didn't dare try brewing on his bedroom floor. What he had done was buy twice as much as he needed at the apothecary for the express purpose of fiddling with various draughts and brews. He put aside the potions book for the night and pulled _Dueling for Dummies_ towards him. _Defensive Magical Theory _had turned out to be a dud, focused on avoiding confrontation and seeking non violent solutions. Harry thought it sounded like a load of rubbish.

The other book, however, looked promising. Its bright yellow cover featured at cartoonish wizard animatingly cast spell at an unseen opponent. It had obviously been written with young adult wizards in mind, but Harry thought that the clear descriptions of stances, movement, and of course defensive spells would still be useful. Most of the spells looked rather complicated, but Harry was sure with a little practice he would have a few of the simpler spells down by the Christmas holidays. Harry read quietly for a couple of minutes, every now and again looking over to The List that he had pinned to the wall. It hung over his desk, above the copy of _Defenses of the Mind and Spirit_ that had been delivered by two owls working in conjunction. The tome was almost bewilderingly dense, but Harry had been able to extract a few mental exercises that were supposed to lay the groundwork for learning Occlumency. They made his head hurt horribly. Harry finally set the defense book aside. He was tired and tomorrow he would be boarding a train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had already weaseled a ride out of his Aunt and Uncle, mentioning that the sooner he got to King's Cross, the less likely the neighbors would notice his newfound magic. They had agreed almost immediately, though they didn't look happy.

King's Cross was the busiest place Harry had ever been, even more so than the bustling Diagon Alley. The Dursleys dropped him off with little more than a sneer. He stood looking dumbly around. The ticket Hagrid had given to him was marked "Platform 9 ¾ " Harry was sure there was no such platform at King's Cross, and a look at the wall between platforms 9 and 10 confirmed his suspicion. His first reaction was panic, but a calmer voice prevailed, all he had to do was wait and things would sort them self out. Harry was pondering why exactly he had thought that when he heard something that made his heart leap.

"…packed with Muggles, as usual." The magical world called those without magic "muggles." He turned quickly to find the source of the voice. A large group of redheaded children was approaching, led by a shorter woman who shared their hair and features. One of them appeared roughly Harry's age. Harry screwed up his courage and approached them.

"Excuse me," He said, trying to be both clear and polite, "I was wondering how…" but he was cut off by the older woman.

"How to get on the Platform dear? Your first year at Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "It's Ron's first year too, isn't it Ron?" the boy Harry's age nodded. "Why don't you show this nice boy how to get through." She motioned with her head towards the solid brick that split the platforms. The boy called Ron pushed his cart up beside Harry's. From behind them, Harry heard one of Ron's older brothers call, "Isn't that just precious, ickle Ron's already making friends." Their mother's response was lost in the crowd, as Ron had motioned for Harry to follow him straight towards the divider.

"Just keep walking straight at it, you'll pass through." He said. Harry nodded, he trusted the boy not to intentionally lead him astray right in front of his mother, but none the less scrunched his eyes shut close the second before he ran into the barrier. But he didn't. He opened his eyes again to see a bright red steam engine sitting on gilded tracks. Its many cabins were already teeming with a multitude of young witches and wizards.

"Sorry 'bout that." Ron said, clearly embarrassed, "Mum's like that with everyone."

"No problem," Harry replied, "I would have had no idea if you didn't come along. I was getting worried I would miss the train." Ron seemed to be relieved that the other wizard hadn't been bothered by his mother's fussing.

"So do you know anyone else going to Hogwarts this year?" Harry shook his head. "Me neither," Ron continued, "Do you want to share a compartment or something. I mean…" Ron's ears went quite red, "Unless you don't want to. I could probably get Fred and George to let me sit with them."

"No that's alright, It'd be cool to sit with someone I've already met." Ron happily helped Harry shift his trunk up the steps to one of the rear cars before dragging his own up after him. They settled in an empty compartment at the end of the train.

"So are you muggle-born or something?" Ron asked as they sat down.

"No, my parents were magic and everything."

"Where are they then, didn't they tell you how to get onto the platform?" At this Harry stopped pushing his trunk.

"No, they died when I was very young." Harry remembered the talk he had had with Hagrid before they returned to the Dursleys', how a dark wizard called Voldemort had killed his mother and father when he was just a baby. How Voldemort had been hit with his own rebounding curse when he had tried to kill Harry. Harry had gotten the impression that there was more to the story, but Hagrid had been clearly uncomfortable with the subject. He came back from his recollections to find Ron apologizing profusely.

"Oh wow, I'm sorry mate, I…I…" Harry held up a hand.

"It's not your fault, you couldn't have known." An awkward silence fell about the cabin. Ron's brothers, who Harry learned were called Fred and George, stopped by briefly for a chat. Harry got the impression that he would have to watch his back around the two. After they left, Ron had to stick his head out the window to wave his Mum goodbye. Harry stuck his head out the window too, wishing Hagrid were there to see him off. He gave a little wave to Ron's Mum in thanks for helping him onto the platform. She seemed taken aback at first, but smiled fondly. From behind her a young girl also waved shyly. Soon enough the train began to move, which forced Ron and Harry back into the compartment.

"I'm Harry by the way." Harry stuck out his hand towards the redheaded boy across from him. Ron shook it.

"Ron. Ron Weasley." He replied. Before he could say anymore, the compartment door slid open. A blonde boy about Harry's age stood in the doorway. A group of students was gathered around him, seemingly hanging on his every word. He carried on in a boastful way as he stepped across the threshold.

"…and so my father said, oh, I didn't realize there were people in here." He looked down his nose at the two boys sitting in the compartment. A sneer appeared on his pointed face. "Ah, _you_ must be a _Weasley_," he said Ron's name as if it was a particularly nasty swear, "yes, my father's told me all about your family. Far too many children and not enough money to even buy them their own robes." His sneer widened cruelly at Ron's embarrassed reaction. He turned his attentions to Harry. "And who's this? Some mudblood you've fooled into thinking you're not a disgrace to wizards?" From the way this blonde boy had said the word "mudblood," Harry knew it must be a particularly offensive term. It was time to put this snobbish kid in his place. Harry rose calmly; it was time for his fame to work in his favor for once.

"Harry," he stuck out his hand, "Harry Potter. And you are?" He said coolly; he brushed the hair obscuring his scar aside in a move he hoped looked casual and unplanned. The effect was immediate. The blonde's little entourage drew a collective gasp of breath. From behind him, he heard Ron let loose a muttered "Bloody Hell." The boy in front of him froze halfway to shaking his hand. A shadow of doubt crossed over his eyes until the sneer chased it away again.

"The famous Harry Potter? I would have expected you to have better taste in companions, although I guess growing up with muggles must have left you ignorant of our ways. I'm Draco Malfoy." Malfoy extended his hand, not to clasp Harry's already proffered handshake, but instead thrusting it forward as if shaking hands had been his idea all along. "We can throw out this Weasley trash if you'd rather spend the trip with some real wizards."

Harry did not move to shake hands at first. From his attitude and the number of students already gathered around him, some obviously from the higher years, this Draco Malfoy was a boy with connections to the rich and powerful. An ally of this positioning would offer a valuable asset in Harry's prophesied conflict with Voldemort, certainly more than the apparently dirt poor Weasley clan. For the slightest second Harry considered grasping the blonde boy's hand. Then another thought occurred to him. The way Draco had looked and spoken down to both Ron and Harry before learning the latter's identity reminded him of the bullies in Dudley's gang back in the muggle world. Could such allies be tolerable in the long run? Harry supposed not.

Harry jerked his hand roughly away just before Draco could shake it. The motion left the blonde haired boy slightly flat footed. The gaggle of students behind him let out a brief smattering of chuckles.

"I believe Ron was here first. Why don't you find another compartment?" Harry's hand inched to the back pocket of his trousers where he had stowed his cherry wand. Malfoy looked back to his little gang with a sneer that soon dropped from his face when he saw that the other students had taken a step backwards. He turned back to face Harry.

"You might not know it yet Potter, but you've just made a huge mistake."

"The only mistake here, Malfoy, was you thinking that I'd befriend a little snake like you." The words were harsh in his mouth, as if not quite his own, but on reflection he held to them with a conviction that he had spoken the truth. There was a blur of motion. Harry found himself staring down at least a dozen wands, his own was in his hand with the point aimed directly between Draco's eyes.

"Oi oi! What's all this then?" Two identical boys with the same flame red hair as Ron were sideling down the train's narrow corridor, wands casually drawn. "Not fighting I hope. Wouldn't want to be kicked out before the sorting ceremony." The presence of two upperclassmen seemed to quell Malfoy's posse somewhat. Several of them shoved their wands roughly back into pockets. Harry kept his raised. The twins reached the last compartment. One of them nodded to an older boy wearing a green and silver tie. "Pucey."

"Weasley," The boy said, "I didn't think you two would show your faces after last season."

"Well, you know us," the other Weasley twin quipped, "A face as handsome as this just can't be hidden away." The first Weasley twin spoke up again.

"Run along firsties, wouldn't want us to call our brother, the _prefect_." At this most of Draco's gang walked quickly away, casting the twins baleful glances. One of the girls threw Harry an appraising look before following them. Draco was left standing alone facing Harry's wand.

"You win this round Potter, perhaps next time you won't be so lucky." He strode off towards the front of the train.

"Is your brother really a prefect?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't expect him to help out against a bunch of Slytherins. Our Percy's a right prat when it comes to 'not showing any kind of House prejudice.'" His carefree gaze fell on Harry's forehead. "Say, you aren't…"

"He is." His twin said. "Harry Potter. Blimey, when I'm right I'm right, didn't I just tell Ron here he'd do well to make a new friend, Fred?

"That you did George. That you did." Ron was still in his seat, ears burning at some of the things Malfoy had said. He hadn't drawn his wand, and didn't look like he wanted to talk to his brothers.

"Well, can't stay, Lee's got a massive tarantula up front, maybe we'll set it on that Malfoy git." Fred said brightly.

"Cheerio." His brother added in a faux posh accent. The two of them left the way they had come.

Harry realized he still had his wand in his hand. He carefully placed it back in his back pocket. He had read in _Dueling for Dummies_ that mishandling of wands could lead to unintentional magic, especially in minors. He sat back across from Ron.

"Lucky your brothers showed up, I don't think I could have taken all of them alone."

"I wish they hadn't!" Ron blurted out. "I mean, they were just checking up on me. Probably because Mum told them to. I wish they'd just let me take care of myself." Harry nodded at this, although personally he wouldn't mind a big family looking out for him. "You didn't have to tell him to shove off like that you know, I could have found a seat with someone."

"Yeah, but something tells me that he would have been pretty awful company. I'd rather spend the train ride alone than listen to some git dither on about how rich his Dad is." Ron seemed to brighten considerably at this. The compartment fell into silence again. Harry thought over the rude interruption.

"Hey Ron, what does mudblood…" the compartment door opened again. This time a round faced boy stood in the doorway. He looked almost close to tears.

"Sorry to bother you, but have you seen a toad anywhere? Mine's run off."

"Sorry mate, no toads here." Ron said. The boy moaned in reply.

"I've lost him! What am I going to tell my gran?"

"Don't worry; I'm sure he'll turn up." Harry said. Ron nodded his agreement. The boy perked up a little.

"Yeah, I'll keep looking." He slid the door back into place. Harry and Ron shared a look.

"A toad?" Harry asked quizzically, "I figured most students would want to get an owl, or at least a cat."

"Yeah, toads have been out of fashion for ages." Ron said, "Of course, I can't talk, all I've got is this stupid rat. He drew a fat, grey rat from his coat pocket. It looked fairly worn out; one of the toes on his right front paw was missing. "This is Scabbers." Ron said morosely, "He's useless." Harry looked down at the old rat. It seemed to lock its beady eyes onto Harry's own. "He's been in our family for ages. Used to belong to one of my brothers."

"Wish I could have gotten a pet." Harry said thoughtfully, "An owl would have been really useful, but I guess a cat would have been great too."

"You a cat person?" Ron asked. He seemed to draw the rat a little closer to himself.

"Yeah, well, kind of." At Ron's quizzical glance he clarified, "Well I never was, but when I was down at the Magical Menagerie , they had a couple of kittens in the window; I almost bought the lot."

"Better not let my sister hear you say that," Ron said with a small chuckle, "she'll probably go mad."

Harry was about to ask exactly why Ron's sister would have such a reaction, when there was a knock at the door. Harry rose and slid the door open to find a short, plump woman pushing a gleaming silver cart loaded with sweets.

"Anything off the trolley dears?" she asked sweetly. Harry looked back at Ron. Ron shook his head and withdrew a brown paper package from one of his pockets.

"My Mum packed sandwiches." He said despondently. Harry nodded and looked back towards the trolley. He reached deep into his pockets and drew his last few Sickles. The trolley before him the piled high with all kinds of sweets, all of which Harry had never seen nor heard of before. There were various wizard themed novelties, like liquorice wands and cauldron cakes, a few chocolate bars wrapped in silver foil and purple paper, and a variety of other, more magical fare, with names like Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizzbees.

"One Chocolate Frog and a Scrumdiddliumptious Bar, please." Harry asked politely, selecting a pentagonal box that shook slightly under his hand and one of the purple wrapped chocolate bars.

"That'll be three Sickles." The lady with the trolley said. Harry dropped the short stack of silver coins into her outstretched hands. He took his purchases back to his seat. The Chocolate Frog box shook again in his hand.

"It's not a real frog, is it?" he asked Ron. Ron smiled a little and shook his head.

"Nah, it's just enchanted to move like that, the chocolate's okay, but what you really want is the card that comes with it."

Harry tore open the box and caught the frog as it made a bid for freedom. It wriggled slightly and gave a quiet croak. He stuck it in his mouth and bit down until the wriggling stopped. He tipped the card out into his hand. An old wizard with a long, crooked nose, flowing silver hair and beard, and a pair of half moon spectacles looked up pleasantly at Harry.

"You got Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed, "I've got about seven of him. I collect them you know. I must have nearly every one." He said with no small amount of pride. Harry guessed that none of Ron's brothers had nearly every Chocolate Frog Card. Harry flipped Dumbledore's card over in his hand as he munched on the Chocolate Frog. There was a short blurb on Dumbledore's life and achievements and a few fun facts. He turned it over just in time to see Dumbledore walk out of the side of the card.

"Oh, he's wandered off." Harry said.

"Well you can't expect him to hang around forever." Ron replied. Harry noticed he hadn't touched his sandwiches.

"Are you not hungry? I know I'm starving."

"Oh, yeah, well," Ron began, "It's just that I'm not a real fan of corned beef is all."

"Tell you what, how about I trade you some of this chocolate for one of your sandwiches?" He unwrapped the Scrumdiddliumptious bar.

"You sure?" Ron asked, "Those bars are supposed to be really good." Harry snapped the bar neatly in two and handed one to Ron. He accepted it reluctantly and passed back one of the paper wrapped sandwiches. The sandwich turned out to be quite dry, and the chocolate so rich on Harry's tongue that he almost regretted trading it with Ron.

Ron seemed to have cheered up once he had half a bar of Harry's chocolate resting in his stomach. The two made light conversation as the world sped past the windows. Ron seemed mostly to want to talk about Quidditch, a game that Harry utterly failed to understand. The rules seemed simple enough, but flying around with nothing between you and the hard ground but a thin wooden stick seemed ridiculously dangerous. Eventually the conversation came around to the subject of magic.

"So you must know a lot of magic, growing up in a wizard family." Harry said casually. It was his silent worry that being raised with the Dursleys would leave him too far behind everyone else to defend himself in the apparently rough and tumble Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ron's reply left him pleasantly surprised.

"I know a few things, I guess, but Mum wouldn't let us learn any real magic until we went to school." His face picked up suddenly. "I do know this one spell though; Fred and George taught it to me." He drew a rather battered and old looking wand. He was about to start an incantation when Harry stopped him.

"Wait, isn't this the same Fred and George that told you we'd be wrestling a troll when we arrive?" he asked, recalling a point earlier in the conversation where Harry had been pumping Ron for any information on the magical school.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I think they might be having you on mate, what incantation did they tell you to use?"

"It went; 'Sunshine, Daisies, butter mell…'" his face fell, "That's not a real spell is it?" at that moment the door slid open again without so much as a knock. This time a girl about their age with great volumes of bushy brown hair stood already dressed in her school robes.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" she asked, speaking very fast, "Only Neville's lost his." The two boys sat momentarily stunned by the rush of words. The girl noticed the wand in Ron's hand. "Oh, were you about to do magic. I've read _all_ my school books and I've been trying a few out just to see if they work." Ron quickly put his wand away with a curt, "No."

"Oh, I just thought, well, you had your wand out. Anyway, I hope it's enough, I'd never even heard of magic until my letter came, this is all so exciting, don't you agree?" Ron didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, but Harry gave a quick nod. This girl seemed to be in the same boat as him, and even he hadn't done that much studying. He figured he should do a little magic to demonstrate that he too was no slouch when it came to magic. He got the strange impression that he wanted to impress the girl, though he wasn't sure why.

"Yeah, I've been doing a little reading too." He said, drawing his wand to demonstrate a spell he had found in his Charms book. The spell had especially caught his eye after a lifetime of dealing with Dudley. He plucked the glasses from his face and pushed on the lens with his thumb. It popped out into his palm. He held up his hand and pointed his wand at the black blur in the center of his vision and said clearly, "_Occulus Reparo._" The lens left his palm with a pop. Harry placed the glasses pack on top of his nose and the world cleared. Ron seemed impressed, but the girls face just split into a broad grin that revealed rather large front teeth.

"So you've read ahead in the Charms book? I was just about to try that one myself. So have you read all of your books?" the two talked for a little while longer, Harry happy to meet someone who seemed to share his drive to succeed in classes and the girl, whose name she had turned out to be Hermione, eagerly quizzing him on how much he had learned. It quickly became clear that she knew even more magic than Harry did, although she seemed to favor Charms work rather than the assortment of minor jinxes Harry had committed to memory. Ron sat quietly in the corner. He didn't seem too happy about the prospect of schoolwork. At long last Hermione took a look at her watch.

"Goodness, you two should change into your school things! We're almost at the school!" She left the two of them and returned to where ever she had come from. Harry and Ron dragged robes and assorted pieces of uniform from their trunks and began to dress. Harry was a little surprised to see darkness outside the train's windows. He had not noticed the compartment lights come on.

"So you really did all that reading?" the question came from behind him. Harry turned to see Ron, who had been rather quiet and distant during the time Hermione had been there, now looked rather worried.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. I doubt everyone spent their summers with their noses pressed to their books. That Malfoy kid probably spent his kicking his servants or something." Ron nodded.

"From what my Dad says about the Malfoys, you're probably right. Ron pulled his school jumper on as Harry shrugged the plain black robe onto his shoulders. He carefully placed his wand into an inside pocket placed conveniently at about waist height. The stick of cherry wood lay across his stomach once the robe was pulled closed. 'At least I'll always know it's there.' He thought to himself. The outline of the wand was just barely visible through the thick material of his school uniform.


	4. Chapter 3: Sorting and Seers

Chapter 3: Sortings and Seers

The train slowed as the squealing of brakes filled Harry's ears. The lights of the station floated out of the growing gloom, shining dimly on an unadorned cobblestone platform with a plain green sign embossed with "Hogsmeade." The bright red engine finally came to a complete stop and the car was filled with the sound of trunks being pulled from the high overhead racks all along the train. Harry levered his own trunk down from its perch with a loud clunk. The extra books weighed it down heavily. He sincerely hoped that Hogwarts was not too far from Hogsmeade if he had to drag the horrid thing the whole way. He followed Ron out into the corridor to find a chaotic rush of new students mixed with the confident laid back movement of upperclassmen disembarking from the train. The two first years made motions toward the steps down to the platform.

Harry greeted the fresh evening air with relish. Although only the start of September, the air had already taken on a definite chill. A booming voice came out of the gloom accompanied by a swinging lantern.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!" Hagrid appeared out of the darkness. "Alright there 'arry?" the great beard that covered Hagrid's face split in a wide, beaming smile. Harry returned the smile to the giant who had introduced him to the wizarding world. "Come on, Follow me!" Hagrid yelled. He motioned with the bobbing lantern. The first years were led down a long and steep set of steps cut into the hill that Hogsmeade had been built on. The moon glinted of a wide body of water ahead of them.

"That's the Black Lake." A familiar voice said behind Harry and Ron. "I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Bloody hell, where did you come from?" Ron blurted as he turned to look at the bushy haired witch.

"Oh, I just thought, well, I enjoyed talking to you on the train…"

"You mean you enjoyed talking to Harry." Ron corrected. Hermione looked slightly cross at this rebuke.

"Well you didn't exactly speak up, did you?" the girl affected a bossy air. Ron only threw his hands up in the air.

"You know what, you're on your own Harry." He moved aside to talk to Neville, who had apparently found his toad since he was struggling to keep it from leaping out of his clutches.

"I don't know what's got him all riled up." Hermione said once several students separated them from Ron and Neville.

"Maybe he's just shy?" Harry said, somewhat lamely. He thought he should at least stick up for the boy he had shared the train ride with.

"Maybe…" Hermione sounded unconvinced.

It wasn't long before the group of huddled first years reached a short dock that brimmed with small wooden boats. Harry and Hermione got into a boat along with a sandy haired boy and a dark blonde haired witch who had her hair tied up in short braids. Harry looked over to see Ron send him a glare as he got into a boat with Neville and a pair of dark skinned twins.

"Seamus Finnigan." The sandy haired boy said. He stuck his hand out and each of the others' hands in turn.

"Hannah Abbott." The blonde said.

"Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter." Seamus broke into a good natured grin. Hannah seemed to be taken aback.

"Are you, are you _the_ Harry Potter? She asked. Harry nodded. The four of them began talking about the Sorting that they would soon be taking part in. Seamus was sure that it was some form of duel, while Hannah said that they would have to talk to an old boot. Hermione said that it wasn't mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History._ Harry honestly had no idea, but thought that Hannah was probably closest. Students wouldn't be asked to duel as soon as they arrived. 'Or if they do,' Harry thought, 'at least I'll have a leg up on the competition.'

"So what houses do you think you'll all be sorted into?" Hermione asked.

"Not sure." Seamus replied, can't say I've given it much thought. We'll all be learning the same stuff, right?"

"Well I'm sure I'll be in Hufflepuff." Hannah said "My grandmother was in Hufflepuff, and I think her Dad was in Hufflepuff too. From what they say it's a great house, and professor Sprout teaches Herbology, which I've always wanted to study." She looked around and added, "My Mum grows roses, wins all the competitions in our town."

"I just hope I don't get put in Slytherin." Harry muttered. "From what Hagrid said, there isn't an evil witch or wizard that wasn't sorted into Slytherin."

"Hagrid's the one who led us to the boats, right?" Hannah asked, "He's kind of scary."

"He's actually a really nice guy," Harry assured her, "He told me I was a wizard when my Aunt and Uncle tried to stop me from getting my letters."

Soon enough, the small flotilla reached a great cliff. Hogwarts Castle rose majestically from the top of the cliff, its many windows casting light down on the chilly, windswept lake. The students disembarked and began to climb a long set of steps. At long last, they reached the great front gates of the castle. Hagrid rapped out three booming knocks on the ancient wood. The doors creaked open wide, letting a river of warm air to spill out on the huddled children, some of whom were shivering. Standing in the doorway was a formidable looking old witch with a tight bun of black hair. On her head was perched a pointed witches hat, and she wore a majestic, if slightly old fashioned looking, emerald green robes. Clutched in her hands was a thick roll of parchment, which she lightly bounced off of her open palm. Harry was reminded briefly of a policeman wielding a truncheon, but quickly banished the comparison from his mind. She briefly conferred with Hagrid before beckoning the students forward into the entrance hall. Harry's jaw almost dropped out of his head at the magnificent room. Stone walls stretched up into a darkness too deep to make out the roof. A massive marble staircase led upward, and richly carved doors led off to the sides. From where Harry was standing he could see steps descending from a corner alcove, most likely leading to basement floors.

Beside him, Hermione didn't seem quite as shocked. Most likely she had read all about the entrance hall in _Hogwarts: A History._ Ahead of them, the dark haired witch had turned to look at the assembled first years. She spoke in a quiet, yet stern voice. It was a voice that forced you to listen to it regardless of volume.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start of term banquet will begin shortly. But before you take your seats with your classmates, you will be sorted into your houses." She began to explain the importance of the houses, how they would spend their time with their houses, sleep in the same rooms as their houses, and go to class with their houses. Harry wondered which house he would be sorted into. He wouldn't mind being in the same house as Hermione, she seemed to be the smartest person he had met so far, and maybe Ron wouldn't be too bad. His thoughts turned sour as his eyes passed over the back of Draco Malfoy's head. As long as he didn't have to sleep in the same room as Malfoy. The severe witch had finished talking.

"I shall return when we are ready for you, do try to smarten yourselves up a bit before the ceremony begins." She gave the crowd a quick once over. Harry subconsciously ran his hand over his hair in an attempt to flatten it as her gaze passed over him. He thought he detected the very faintest echo of a smile on her features. She turned sharply on her heel and walked through the doors to the hall. A faint murmur was heard briefly emanating from the door until it shut with a loud thudding.

A few students did seem to try to straighten out their school robes. From where Harry stood he could see Neville reclasp his cloak and Ron rubbing furiously at a spot of dirt beside his nose. Beside Harry, Hermione seemed to be reciting something under her breath.

"You alright?" Harry asked. She held up a hand to silence him. Harry listened closely. It sounded like she was repeating every spell she had read about over the summer over and over again. Harry realized that she must be preparing for the Sorting Ceremony. Harry felt a rush of panic fill him and tried to do a spot of his own revisions. The spells he had thought firmly entrenched in his mind fled from his grasp as he tried to remember them. His panic was reaching a fever pitch when the doors to the Great Hall swung open and the first years began to walk inside. While the entrance hall was most certainly imposing and very impressive, the Great Hall was the first truly magical place Harry had seen. Massive banners seemed to flutter on the wall in their own breeze. Scores of candles floated above the heads of the students sitting at four long tables. The ceiling itself was obscured by an incredibly lifelike image of the sky outside. The moon was just beginning to peek from behind some cloud cover. The line of first years halted before a raised platform on which a shorter table stood. Seated behind the table was a group of adults that Harry assumed were the professors, and in the very center, sat Albus Dumbledore.

"I am pleased to present, the new first year students." The professor who had met them at the door gave a flourish with the hand that held the roll of parchment.

"Thank you Professor McGonagall." The silver haired wizard replied plaintively. "You may begin the Sorting."

Professor McGonagall motioned of to a side chamber. An incredibly short wizard came out carrying a beaten and battered old pointed hat with multiple patches and a wide rip near the brim. The diminutive professor placed the hat down on a stool that stood before the teacher's table. The whole hall seemed to be staring at the hat. Suddenly, the rip near the brim opened up, and the hat began to sing. After the singing had stopped, Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment she had been holding and said, "When I call your names, you will come up to me and sit on this stool. I will then place the Sorting Hat on your head and you will be sorted into your houses."

Harry was quite relieved to hear that all he had to do was wear a hat. Hermione seemed equally relieved. At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall began to read, starting with, "Abbott, Hannah." The blonde girl walked nervously up to the stool and had the hat placed on her head. After a few seconds the hat called out in a clear voice, "Hufflepuff!" Hannah happily stepped down from the stool and quickly walked over to one of the far tables, which erupted with cheers as she approached. The sorting went quite quickly once a flow had been established. Hermione ended up in Gryffindor while one of the girls Harry recognized from the train went to Slytherin. Seamus also went to Gryffindor, and after a while up on the stool, so did Neville. Soon enough, it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry." The hall went silent. Harry walked steadily up to the stool and the old hat. He tried his best to exert an air of easy confidence. This was made difficult by the stars of everyone in the room. By the time Harry reached the raised dais, he was almost tempted to sprint the final few steps, but managed to keep himself to a quick walk. The old hat was placed on his head once he had sat down, its brim slipped down over his ears and the hall disappeared behind the worn and frayed fabric.

_Hmm, very interesting. _The voice came as if from inside his own head. _Harry Potter. It is as if it was just yesterday I sat upon your father's head. He though, was not nearly as difficult to place._

'Difficult?' Harry thought. The voice answered as if they had been talking face to face.

_Why yes. You seem to have been given a great gift, Harry Potter. It is not often I sort a seer. _The word rolled around Harry's brain.

'Seer?' Harry thought.

_Indeed, I see things inside your head. Things that can't possibly have happened. Not yet. I know the signs. But where to put you?_

'Not Slytherin.' Harry thought quite adamantly.

_Not Slytherin, ey? Although I would suppose not, seeing what you have seen. I see that you have the necessary ambition, to face the Dark Lord and win is no easy task. But I also see a thirst for knowledge, a willingness to fight for these wizards you have never met, and a willingness to train hard, harder than you have ever done. It would appear you would do well by any house I put you in. So what says you, Harry Potter? Which house will you stand beside to face the darkness that you have been shown? Who do you choose as friends, companions, allies? _Harry thought about the four houses and how we would fit with each one. Briefly an image of Hermione flickered across his mind's eye.

_Ah, a girl is it._ _Rather reckless don't you think, to_ _make such a decision. Although perhaps rather fitting, yes. Well, better be… _"Gryffindor!"

The last word was yelled for all to hear. The hall exploded behind the rough veil of the hat, which was quickly drawn away from his head. Harry felt a tugging at his school tie and saw that it had shifted from the smart black to bands of gold and red. In front of him one of the tables was screaming and applauding loudly. The Weasley twins had actually stood up, a move that many along the table copied. Harry quickly made his way over to the table and seated himself beside Hermione and across from Seamus. The sorting continued, and finally Ron came to join the Gryffindors and, "Zabini, Blaise." was sorted into Slytherin.

Once the Sorting hat had been taken back into its side chamber and Professor McGonagall returned to the empty seat beside Professor Dumbledore, the wizened headmaster stood up to speak. He went on at length about the school rules, the Forbidden Forest, and the Third Floor corridor, which was apparently off limits under pain of death. Once he was finished, a great array of food shimmered into existence all along the house tables. Harry had never seen so much food, and endeavored to try a little of everything. He heaped his plate with as much food as he could reach and enjoyed every bite. After a delicious desert of strawberries and cream, Harry was almost full to bursting. Around him, his fellow Gryffindors had taken up a conversation on their families. Everyone laughed when Seamus related the story of how his mother, a witch, had not told his muggle father she could do magic until after they had married, and what a great shock it had been. Neville had a story about how his eccentric Great Uncle Algie had once dropped him from a window only to have him bounce, proving once and for all that Neville had any magic at all in him. Harry was a little shocked that anyone would dangle their nephew out a window to test for magical ability, but the revelation seemed to go by everyone else without much thought. Hermione's parents were both dentists, and when it was Harry's turn, the conversation died an awkward death.

Hermione began asking about classes, directing a flurry of questions towards the Weasley twins. They brushed off her concerns about the difficulty of Transfiguration, ensuring her that they would start small, at least at first. Harry hadn't really been paying much attention at this point in the conversation, as the extra helpings of food had made him quite sleepy. He scanned the staff table lazily. Most of the professors seemed engrossed in their own conversations, but one professor, seated right near the end of the table next to Professor Quirrel, whom Harry recognized from the Leaky Cauldron, was staring directly at Harry. The man had long, greasy black hair that hung limply on each side of his face, a voluminous black robe, and a pallid face that was creased in an angry scowl. He quickly turned away when Harry made eye contact. A faint prickle emanated from his scar again.

"You alright Harry?" Apparently some of his discomfort had showed up on his face.

"Yeah, Fred, I'm fine. I was just wondering who that professor is over there by Quirrel." The Weasley twin made a face as he looked over to the sallow man.

"Oh, that's Snape, the Potions master. Trust me, he's about as pleasant as he looks, and really nasty to us Gryffs. He's the head of Slytherin House." So this was Snape. If anyone but The List had told Harry that Snape wasn't pure evil, Harry would have laughed in their face. The man seemed to ooze pure malice. But if he was the Potions teacher…

"What are his classes like?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Well, they're down in the dungeons." Fred began.

"And if you're as lucky as we were our first year, you'll be taking them with the Slytherins." His brother added. Harry gulped. He just hoped his notes were enough to get him through what sounded like would be his least favorite classes. After a few particularly off colour jokes at Professor Snape's expense from the twins, a couple of which Harry found rather funny, there was a flurry of motion at the head table. Professor Dumbledore had stood up again.

"Once again, an excellent feast. But alas, the time for eating is over. I'm sure you are all excited to rise early tomorrow to begin your classes," his eyes twinkled as he said this, "So I do believe it is time for bed. Prefects, please guide your first years up to your common rooms." There was a great scraping of benches being pushed from tables, and Harry found himself being swept up the marble staircase. He was guided by yet another Weasley, although the fastidious Percy couldn't have been more different from the jocular Fred and George or the boisterous Ron. He led the new students up countless moving staircases until they all stood before a painting of an enormous woman in a pink satin dress.

"Password?" she asked in a posh voice.

"Caput Draconis." Percy replied primly. The fat lady nodded politely and the picture frame swung open to reveal an oval hole that went straight through the wall and into the richly furnished room behind. The room itself was brightly lit by a roaring fire and hung with red and gold banners embroidered by animate lions that roared silently as the tapestries shifted. A great many comfy sofas and chairs were placed about the room invitingly. Two spiraling staircases rose up out of sight in alcoves set in opposite walls. These Percy pointed out as he addressed the assembled first years.

"These staircases lead to your dormitories. Boys sleep over here, while girls sleep over there. You should know that school rules forbid boys from entering the girls' dorms under any circumstances. The common room is open to all Gryffindors, even after hours, but I would prefer it if you went up to your rooms to sleep." And with that he left them to their own devices. Harry bade Hermione an early "Good Night" and ascended the boys' stairs. He found the First Year room quite easily. His trunk lay before the four-poster bed farthest to the left, almost by the door. Four other beds stood in a semi-circle around the walls of the room. Harry moved to his trunk to find his clothes already sorted and lying on the bed. He quickly shoved them into the small chest of drawers he had been allotted and began to sort through his books. He placed _Defenses of the Mind and Spirit_ on his nightstand and quickly changed into his pajamas. He hopped into bed and grabbed the book before closing the curtains around himself. A murmur of voices entered the room as his fellow Gryffindors rose to get ready for bed. Harry heard Ron and Seamus' light hearted banter, along with Neville's worried voice and a fourth voice that he hadn't heard before.

Harry lay there with the book closed on his chest. The day flashed through his mind in fits and spurts. The train, the boats, the Sorting. Harry's thoughts came to rest on the Sorting Hat's words to him. _It's not often I sort a seer. I know the signs. _Was Harry a seer? Could he see the future? He had heard such things on the television from his cupboard under the stairs, but that couldn't be real could it? 'Says the boy lying in his bed at a magic school.' He thought to himself. He made a note to look up seers in the school library as soon as he had a chance and focused on the book in his hands.

He flipped open the hefty Occlumency tome to the place he had saved with a scrap of parchment. In spidery script, the title of the chapter, _Securing the Mind, Focusing the Body_, was inked across the top of the page. Harry began to read the dense text. The gist of what the book was trying to say was that the fundamentals of Occlumency were rooted in clearing the mind of any emotions that an attacker could use to gain a foothold in the Occlumens' memories. That fit with the concentration exercises the book had him working on. The next few pages detailed further exercises that dealt with the calming of emotions and emptying of the mind.

Harry ran through his usual exercises, and began to feel a light headache coming on. But behind the ache, Harry felt his focus sharpen. Harry shifted into the new exercises. He felt his nerves over the next day's classes drain away, leaving the slightly stronger excitement over coming to the school. He tried to drain the excitement away, but it remained persistently buzzing in the forefront of his mind. A new emotion rose up in front of the excited feeling, frustration. It clouded his mind and the headache returned to the foreground. Harry closed the book with a snap and rubbed his forehead. The soft snoring of his four roommates reached his ears. This Occlumency had better be useful.


	5. Chapter 4: The First Week

Chapter 4: The First Week

The September sun shone weakly through the window and played over Harry's bed coverings. Harry rubbed his eyes and stretched, depositing the heavy book on his nightstand and plucking his glasses from where they had fallen when he had finally gone to sleep. He put them back on and yawned widely. He listened for the stirrings of his roommates and, after hearing nothing, he drew back the curtains and began getting ready for the day. He laid out a fresh uniform and went to take a shower. He returned to find the rest of the boys getting out of bed.

"Shower's free." He said. The guys grunted the rough approximations of a response and shuffled towards the bathroom. Harry quickly got dressed and began to shove books into his bag. He topped the bag off with a fresh stack of parchments and a bottle of ink. He put a handful of quills into one of the side pockets and slung the bag over his shoulder.

The Great Hall was mostly empty when Harry descended from the Gryffindor common room. Percy Weasley sat chatting to a pretty Ravenclaw at the far end of the table and about halfway from the door, a book propped open on a milk jug, sat Hermione Granger. Harry made his way over to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he tried to smile. He felt a little stupid, he was sure lots of people sat with their friends at school, but Harry had never really had any. Dudley had seen to that.

"Oh, hello Harry. Of course you can sit here." She smiled at him as he reached for the stacks of toast that had been laid out. "I was just doing some light reading before classes started." The book she was reading could be described in many ways, but light was not one of them.

"Good to see my Gryffindors up so early." Professor Mcgonagall had walked up behind the two first years. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, your timetables. See that you are not late for my first class this afternoon." Harry accepted the proffered parchment and scanned it quickly. He did indeed have Transfiguration right after the lunch hour.

The first week passed almost as a blur to Harry and the other first years. Harry quickly discovered that magic was a lot harder than the books made it sound. In Charms, taught by the diminutive Professor Flitwick, Harry found himself having to focus all his effort to wield the simplest spells. Of course, the other students seemed to be having equal difficulties. It was a rare class the first week that Seamus Finnigan didn't accidently cause an explosion. Hermione seemed to have a gift for the precise movements and careful pronunciation required for Charms work, and never hesitated to correct Harry's work. It would have grated on him immensely if he wasn't already frustrated with himself. Even when Hermione was sure he was doing it perfectly, he could barely work them.

It was much the same way in Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Once again it was Hermione who led the class, although at least Harry could match her for results. It seemed to take much more work though. While Hermione could look at the matchstick they had been provided and, with a flourish, cause it to elongate at take on a metallic sheen, Harry had to focus his entire mind on the process before trying to affect any kind of change.

His other classes didn't give him the same difficulties. In Herbology, simple attentiveness seemed to reward him with passable marks and both Astronomy and History of Magic were simple tests of being able to stay awake through the whole hour, although Harry did eventually take notes at Hermione's prodding. At any rate, Harry enjoyed the chance to work with magic. What he didn't enjoy was the attention he was receiving in the hallways. People eagerly whispered at his passing in a way that grated on his nerves. When asked about it, Hermione had given him the kind of look Harry had received from his primary school teachers when he had just asked a particularly silly question.

"Honestly Harry, you might think of yourself as 'Just Harry' but to them you're the Boy Who Lived. When you were just a baby you stopped the greatest dark wizard ever known."

"Yeah, but it's not like I had any control of that," Harry said darkly as he adjusted the strap on his bag, "and besides, I can barely even do magic."

"Harry, you just started learning, you can't expect to start making mops do song and dance numbers in your first week."

"Mops?" Harry gave the girl an inquisitive glance.

"Something I saw in a film when I was young. Anyway, that's not the point, the point is, I'm sure if you just pay attention in class and try and concentrate you'll do just fine." Harry didn't feel like bringing up that he was concentrating harder and for longer than he had ever done in his life.

Harry sat down next to Hermione for breakfast on Friday morning feeling rather tired. The busy schedule of classes, homework, and every night at least an hour of Occlumency practice had begun to wear on him. He fished out his timetable to check which classes he would be going to first. His face fell when he saw the first class of the day. A double period of Potions, to be taken alongside the Slytherin first years.

"Double Potions?" Harry said with a measure of dread. He pulled the _Potions Primer_ from his bag and quickly leafed through to try and refresh his memory.

"What's that?" Hermione was eying the _Primer_.

"Oh, yeah, I picked it up a Flourish and Blotts when I was picking up my schoolbooks. It's been really helpful with getting ready." Hermione looked somewhat dismayed.

"Oh no, I didn't see any. They must have sold out. I'm going to be so behind!"

"You can borrow mine, if you want." Harry slid the book closer to Hermione.

"I couldn't," she said, "what would you use?" Harry shook his head and drew out his Potions text.

"I already wrote a bunch of notes in here, see." He showed her the entry for a babbling brew. He had realized from his reading that some of the instructions didn't account for brewing in a hurry. Luckily, Harry had found a herb in the back of the _Primer_ that would remove the necessity for the lengthy simmering stage by absorbing any non-reactive liquids while remaining magically inert, so it didn't interfere with the effects of the brew. He had written so in the wide margin at the top of the page.

"You wrote in a textbook?" Hermione whispered urgently, as if Harry had just admitted to hiding bodies in his trunk. "Harry, you can't just write in the books."

"I can't?" Harry was quite confused. If anything he had expected her to be interested in what he had figured out. The little bit of pride that had come from showing off his work deflated in his chest. "I mean, I bought them didn't I?"

"Well yes, but you shouldn't…" Hermione just shook her head. "Thank you for the _Primer_, Harry."

"You're welcome. You're not really mad about the notes are you?" he shoved the offending book back into the bag. Hermione flipped through the _Primer_ and sighed.

"No. I just feel very strongly about this. My parents always taught me that books were precious. It just feels wrong to actually _write_ in one."

Harry nodded. He didn't understand the reverence the girl held towards bound paper, but at least she wasn't angry about his apparent blasphemy.

"Bad luck about Potions, ey Harry?" Harry looked up to see Seamus and Neville it down across from him, timetables in hand. Ron sat down on Harry's other side and began piling his plate with sausages and a stack of fried egg.

"Yeah, just what we need first day of classes. Two hours of Draco Malfoy and his goons down in the dungeons." Ron looked contemptuously over at where the pinched faced Slytherin carried on to a small gaggle of onlookers. He was flanked by two of the largest eleven year olds Harry had ever seen, barring Dudley.

"I heard Snape has it out for us Gryffindors." Neville said. He seemed rather pale.

"I'm sure he's not all that bad." Harry tried to sound convincing, but wasn't sure he believed it himself.

"Not if what I hear is true," Ron morosely carried on, "My brothers say he's the biggest git."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, "You can't speak like that about a Professor!" Ron was a little taken aback at the retort.

"What? He hates the Gryffindors. He takes points off Fred and George all the time."

"Well, they aren't the best behaved, are they?" Hermione eyed the twins where they sat further down the table.

"I can't believe you're taking Snape's side! You'll see after our first lesson." And with that he stood up and left the table. Harry followed the red haired boy out the door with his eyes. Part of him wanted to side with his fellow guys, but another part of him was convinced that The List was true, and that Snape at least wasn't completely rotten.

"We should actually get going." Hermione said. "We don't want to be late." The others grumbled their assent at left to follow Ron.

The dungeon domain of the Hogwarts Potion Master was a dismal place. The dank stone walls were covered in shelves filled with various jars of horrifying looking odds and ends. Harry sat down at a table next to Hermione and began to set up his cauldron. Ron took a seat next to Dean Thomas. He did not look at Hermione or Harry.

The door burst open. Harry turned to see Professor Snape stride into the classroom; his robes flowed about him in a menacing fashion. He quickly moved to the front of the room and snatched a roll of parchment from off if his desk. He began to take attendance, looking at each face as he said their name. When his eyes fell on Harry, he stopped.

"Ah, Harry Potter, our new celebrity." Harry tried his best to ignore the laughter that drifted over from the Slytherin side of the room. Snape seemed to ignore it too, and continued to take roll. When the last name was called, he looked up at his class and began to lecture.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The whole speech struck Harry as being rather pretentious. Yes, Potions was a lot more than just tossing the right ingredients into a pot and letting it boil, but the way Professor Snape made it sound it was the be all, end all of magic. Harry looked over to see Hermione Granger sitting at rapt attention, she had written the entire speech down neatly across the top of her parchment. Further down the row, Ron and Dean were exchanging looks with raised eyebrows.

"Potter," Harry swiveled back to find Professor Snape eyeing him coldly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel with an infusion of Wormwood?" Harry racked his brains to try and remember what the _Primer_ had to say about Asphodel and Wormwood. Beside him, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Professor Snape ignored her completely. Asphodel, Asphodel… It dawned on Harry, Asphodel had been grouped with other sleep agents, and Wormwood was often used to increase the strength of various poisons.

"Well, I guess you would get a very powerful sleep potion. Professor." he looked hopefully up at the Potions Master. The man broke into a cruel sneer.

"Only half right, Potter. These two ingredients are combined to create the Draught of Living Death, a potion that will send the drinker into a sleep so deep it is often mistaken for death." Harry thought that his answer seemed to cover that, but kept the thought to himself.

"Now tell me, Mr. Potter, where would I look if I wanted to find a bezoar?" Hermione's hand once again shot up, but was again ignored. This question was much easier than the first; there was an entire chapter on bezoars in the text.

"Bezoars are found in the stomach of goats, sir." Professor Snape did not seem happy at this, and so asked another question.

"Well then, I'm sure you can tell me what the difference between Monkshood, and Wolfsbane." Harry knew this question was unfair. Wolfsbane was not even covered in the first year Potions book. The fact that it was a trick question didn't help matters. Luckily for Harry, Wolfsbane had an entry in the back of the _Potions Primer_, which included such things as alternate names.

"They are the same plant, Professor." By now, the Potions professor seemed to be quite angry. Harry didn't understand why a student answering his questions would have such an effect. Why was he so fixated on catching Harry out?

"It seems that Mr. Potter has decided that he is not famous enough, and seeks to show off at every turn." Before Harry could defend himself from the allegations, Professor Snape launched another question at him. "So Mr. Potter, if you are so very good at Potions as you seem to think you are, tell us, what are the ingredients of the Draught of Peace?" Harry's mind drew a blank. Even Hermione lowered her hand. The Draught of Peace wasn't in _One Thousand Herbs and Fungi_, nor were any of the ingredients mentioned in the _Potions Primer_.

"I don't know, sir." Professor Snape's face seemed to shift into a victorious sneer.

"It would appear," he said in a cold voice, "that fame isn't everything." Harry could feel his face burn, partly from being put on the spot, but mostly from the unfairness of it all. "Why aren't you writing this down?" Snape snapped at the rest of the class. The scribbling of quills fill the dungeon classroom as Snape took his place behind his desk. The instructions for a simple boil curing potion appeared on the front blackboard in spidery, angular script as the class split into pairs. Hermione seemed to be quite good at potion making. Between her attention to detail and Harry's notes, the two of them had the potion stewing nicely. Not that it stopped Professor Snape from criticizing them.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. For vandalism." He looked contemptuously at the scribbling in Harry's text book and carried on, stopping to terrorize Neville. Hermione only gave Harry a knowing look, but at least kept the criticism behind it to herself. After a brutal hour of potions work, one where Professor Snape took every opportunity to scold the Gryffindors and applaud the Slytherins, there was an angry hiss and volumes of green steam issued from where Neville and Seamus had been working. Noxious liquid seeped from the gnarled lump of copper that had once been Seamus' cauldron, soaking the floor and burning holes in people's shoes. Neville himself had been soaked with the stuff. He moaned in pain.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, "You, take him to the Hospital Wing." He pointed to Seamus, "The rest of you, get out of my classroom before you do any more damage!" the first years fled the dungeon.

"What'd I tell you?" Ron said outside the classroom. "The man is pure evil."

That weekend passed slowly for Harry. The better part of Saturday was spent in the library with Hermione doing the homework that had piled up over the first week of classes. Every teacher had assigned some form of essay; Snape's was especially onerous, a full foot of parchment on catastrophic potion failure. From what some of the older students, it was harsh even for Snape.

"Did you write anything about the moon cycle at the time of brewing?" Harry looked over to see Hermione begin a third foot of writing.

"Um, Hermione, I think you've written enough there." His own essay just barely scraped eleven inches, but he doubted it would get a fair grading anyway, so he set down his quill and looked to his Charms text. Professor Flitwick had them practicing a simple charm that would turn pages with a flick of a wand.

"Mancepo." Harry whispered and gave his wand a sharp flick. The front cover flopped limply open. Harry smiled to himself. "Mancepo." Another page followed the cover. "Mancepo." The entire book leapt into the air and shut with a snap. Harry was momentarily stunned.

"Harry?" Hermione was looking at him with a worried expression on her face.

"I, um, when I went to buy my wand, Mr. Olivander said that I had an unstable magical core, or something."

"An unstable core?" the worried look got worse.

"I'm not going to explode or anything," Harry whispered urgently, "It's just that sometimes my magic is stronger than normal."

"Oh, maybe that's why you've been having so much trouble with Charms. Maybe there's a way to learn to control it. I'm going to look for some books on the subject." And with that she took off into the stacks.

"Well well, the great Harry Potter can't control his magic." Draco Malfoy's aristocratic drawl got right under Harry's skin. "Don't worry Potter; I'm sure your _girlfriend_ will find something to hide the fact that you're a poor excuse for a wizard." At that his gang of Slytherins guffawed loudly. Harry tried to drain away the anger that rose at Draco's words.

"Back off Malfoy." Harry growled.

"Or what, Potter, you'll close a book at me? Oh wait, you can only do that half the time." Harry's chair slammed backwards onto the floor, his wand was in his hand. Malfoy's flanking goons cracked their knuckles. Malfoy's own wand was drawn now as the two boys stood facing each other.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy! No dueling in the Library! Detentions for both of you!" Madam Pince, the school's librarian, was bearing down on the two facing first years. "Now out, both of you." Harry gathered his books and set off for the Gryffindor common room in a hurry. Just his luck, now the whole school would be talking about how the "Boy Who Lived" couldn't even control his own magic.


	6. Chapter 5: Detentions and Duels

Chapter 5: Detentions and Duels

Harry awoke early the next morning to serve his detention. He dressed quickly and headed down to the common room. Hermione sat waiting in one of the red armchairs closest to the fire, book in hands.

"Hermione?"

"Harry? I was wondering where you went. Is it true you have a detention already? I asked Madam Pince where you had gone and she said…" Harry was nodding his head. "Oh Harry, I thought you knew better than this. A detention."

"What are they going to do Hermione? Call my parents?" the look on Hermione's face told him that he had gone too far. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"That was a simply awful thing to say, Harry."

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just that Malfoy, he knows about, you know…" Harry felt a little uncomfortable saying it out loud.

"Your magic?" Harry nodded, "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, I couldn't find anything while I was at the Library yesterday, but just before I left yesterday, I found this book." She tapped the cover. "It's about magical cores. It's actually quite interesting. I'm looking for anything on instabilities and such."

"Thanks Hermione. I really appreciate it." Harry smiled at the brilliant young witch. She smiled back.

"You better get down to the library, if you miss your detention, Madam Pince might just ban you from going inside ever again."

Harry's first Hogwarts detention was dreadfully dull. While Madam Pince had Malfoy sorting the schools copies of _the Biting book of Magical Creature Bites_ in by how much blood had soaked into the binding, Harry was assigned to organize the library's massive and incredibly jumbled card catalogue. The work was quite boring, but at least it wasn't something like being hung by his thumbs from the ceiling, as he had heard Mr. Filch often threaten. After hours in the cramped librarian's office, Harry was released for lunch. He noted with a certain satisfaction that Malfoy was sporting some rather nasty looking paper cuts.

Harry went as quickly as possible down to the Great Hall for lunch. He hadn't had time for breakfast and was almost mad with hunger. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, probably still curled up in the common room with that book, so Harry sat down next to Neville.

"Hi Harry." The nervous looking boy did not look up from his plate. Harry couldn't fail to notice that the rest of the hall didn't share Neville's downcast pose. Whispers seemed to be passing among most of the students in the Great Hall, even along the Gryffindor table. Looking at the Slytherin side of the Hall, Harry saw Malfoy sitting amongst his gang. They seemed to have become the epicenter of the whispers and furtive glances aimed at Harry. Malfoy caught Harry's eye and sneered cruelly. The expression boiled Harry's blood.

"What is everyone whispering about?" Harry asked Neville in hushed tones, although he was sure he already knew what it was.

"Well, they've been saying that you're mental, mate." It was Ron, who had taken a seat across from Neville. Neville shot him a look across the table.

"Oh…" The confirmation of his fears stung. Yesterday he was "The Boy Who Lived," now people were calling him crazy behind his back. Or in front of his face, he noted bitterly. The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence. Harry wasn't excited about the prospects of walking back into classes the next day with his secret now a well known bit of gossip. He retired early to the common room and walked hurriedly up to the boys' dormitories. The room was thankfully empty. Harry threw down his book bag and sat down heavily on his trunk. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in." Harry looked up to see Hermione stick her head through the open door. The rest of her followed it, the book from before clenched in her hands.

"Harry? I've heard what everyone's been saying." Despite the slightly worried tone of her voice, she had a smile fixed on her face.

"You don't seem too worried about it." Harry said morosely.

"Yes well, I think I found something." She sat down beside him on the top of the trunk and began to flip pages until she found a spot she had marked. "I've been reading this book, and it says here that an unstable core can lead to brief flares of more powerful magic, but nothing like your spell, just accidental stuff."

"So you're saying that people are calling me unstable for no reason?" Harry didn't know what felt worse, that he could be unstable, or simply being a terrible wizard.

"No, I'm saying that people are calling you unstable because you're eleven, and because Draco Malfoy is simply awful." She rolled her eyes at the look Harry gave her. "Honestly Harry, how many times has Seamus blown something up? You don't see anyone calling him crazy."

"You don't seem to have any problem controlling _your_ magic."

"Yes, well," Hermione said primly, "I practice."

"Do you think I could practice with you?"

"Of course, Harry. I mean, it gets pretty lonely just casting spells in empty classrooms all by myself." She smiled at him. Harry smiled back. "Why don't we work on some of the transfiguration first?" She said brightly.

Harry entered his first class Monday morning with a deal of trepidation. After about an hour practicing turning spoons into forks, charming needles to point north, and casting weak jinxes at an unfortunate suit of armour without another bout of unstable magic, Harry felt at least confident that he wouldn't blow up the kettles Professor Flitwick would have them charming that day. He took his usual seat next to Hermione, who gave him an encouraging smile. Professor Flitwick stood on his usual stack of books and began explaining the charm they would be working on. When he was done, he levitated a number of large, black kettles so that each student sat looking at one of their own. Harry screwed up his eyes and performed the incantation. There was a loud bang that echoed through the room. Harry opened his eyes to find everyone in the room looking at him, probably expecting the charred remains of his desk to be sitting in front of him. But the desk was whole, and the kettle sat there humming pleasantly to itself. Not quite the effect he had been attempting, the class was working on whistling charms, but not the catastrophe he had expected. Eyes began to roam the room until they landed on one of the Ravenclaws, whose long fringe was still smoldering. There was a smattering of light laughter and the class continued.

After the incident in Charms class, the whispers about Harry's magic seemed to die down. Draco Malfoy seemed rather put out that his revenge had been so easily diffused, and so began to take every opportunity to needle Harry on his spell work.

* * *

Wednesday marked the beginning of Flying Class for the first years. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table that morning with a worried expression on his face. If flying on a broomstick was anything like the ride through Gringotts, he wanted no part of it. Around him his fellow roommates talked excitedly about the lesson. All of them, save for Neville, seemed thrilled at the idea of zooming around with nothing but a twig between them and a dirt nap. Harry had taken to talking to Neville when the subject of flying and Quidditch came up. Just as Harry was about to ask Neville to pass along a plate of bacon, the post owls came swooping into the hall. A small package was dropped into Neville's lap.

"It's from my Gran." Neville said, reading the card before he ripped open the brown paper. A small glass globe fell into his palm and after a second, filled with a dull red smoke.

"Look, Neville's got himself a Remembrall." Ron looked over from his plate of eggs. "It's supposed to turn red when you've forgotten something."

"The only problem is," Neville said, "I can't remember what I've forgotten."

Classes that day seemed to pass very fast, even history of magic. It wasn't too long before Harry and the other first years were walking out into the school grounds clutching the school's broomsticks. The long wooden handle seemed to buzz weakly under Harry's fingers as the students formed into two lines in front of Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, a severe looking witch with watchful, piercing eyes.

"I want you to lay your brooms on the ground at your right side." The instructor's voice was as fierce as her eyes. "Hold your hand out over the broom, and say 'Up.'"

The class took to their task with mixed results. A few of them, Neville included, utterly failed to get a reaction out of their brooms. To Harry's surprise and amazement, his broom shot up into his hand on his first try. After repeated utterances of 'Up,' occasionally supplemented with some quite impolite phrases, the whole class had gotten the brooms into their hands.

"Alright, I want you all to mount your brooms, and on my signal, kick off gently from the ground." The class obeyed. Harry's seating on the broom was decidedly uncomfortable.

"On my signal, one…" but she didn't get to give the signal. Neville, possessed with a great deal of nervousness, had kicked off early and far too hard. He shot into the air like a cork from a bottle before slipping sideways from the broom. He fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. Madam Hooch rushed to his side to check for injuries.

"Looks like a broken wrist," she said, "come on, off to the Hospital Wing with you." She then addressed the other students. "If I come back to find anyone in the air, they'll be expelled faster than you can say Quidditch." She scooped the injured Neville into her arms and carried him off towards the school. After she had disappeared from sight, Harry heard a voice from behind him.

"Looks like Longbottom dropped his Remembrall." Draco Malfoy had the little glass orb clutched loosely in his hand. He tossed it into the air and caught it expertly. "Do you think I should leave it somewhere for him to find?"

"Give it here, Malfoy." Harry growled. The blonde haired boy grinned maliciously back at him and mounted his broom.

"You going to make me, Potter?" he kicked off and lazily rose into the air. Harry straddled his own broom. For a split second, he forgot his fear of heights, forgot he hadn't the foggiest idea of how to even fly a broom, let alone chase a boy who had been flying since he was young. All he wanted to do was get back at the little weasel that had had the entire castle whispering behind Harry's back. Just as he was about to kick off after Malfoy, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Harry," hissed an urgent Hermione, "Don't. He's not worth being expelled over."

"You're right." Harry answered. He dropped the broomstick and began to mutter under his breath, gripping the wand in his robe. The Hurling Hex was not a spell ordinarily taught at Hogwarts. However, _Dueling for Dummies_ had an entire chapter for aerial duels, an antiquated form of dueling that went out of style around the time that muggle jousting did. The Hurling Hex was rather complicated to pull off, but had the advantage of not requiring a great deal of power. As Harry continued to incant, Malfoy rose steadily higher into the sky. Just when Harry thought the spell had failed, Malfoy's broom gave an almighty buck. The young heir, who hadn't been gripping the handle very hard, was almost tossed from the broom. Even as he tried to regain control, the broom kept on swaying to and fro.

"Harry! What are you doing?" Harry's concentration was broken. The broom stopped its attempt to dislodge its rider. Malfoy, still holding on for dear life, tossed the Remembrall as far as he could and dove for the ground. He landed rather sloppily and lay on the ground. His face was quite green.

"What's wrong, Malfoy, can't even fly in a straight line?" Ron crowed. The ill looking Slytherin glared at him, but said nothing. Harry felt a small smile cross his own face, but quickly stifled it. Hermione looked about ready to start yelling, but Harry was rescued by the return of Madam Hooch. The class resumed where it had left off, minus Neville and Malfoy, who had begged off with an upset stomach. After the hour or so long flying lesson, Harry was about ready to join him. Kicking off hadn't been too bad, but once they had risen up to a height at which students still on the ground began to shrink, a prickle of fear began to wind its way up his spine. His knuckles went white as he clenched the broomstick before him in a death grip. Once he had gotten back to earth, he realized that he hadn't been too bad at the actual flying; in fact, it seemed that on the low level flying parts he was actually a lot better than the others. Not that it would do him any good if he couldn't get more than ten feet off the ground.

Harry and the others returned to the Gryffindor common room. Harry didn't have any more classes that day until Astronomy, a class he had come to detest after being awoken at midnight the previous week to stare at stars through a telescope. He slumped down in his favorite chair to get a head start on an essay for History of Magic. A shadow fell over his parchment. He looked up to meet a cross looking Hermione.

"That was you, wasn't it? You did something to Malfoy's broom." She stood with her arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah…" Harry said trepidatiously, "But he deserved it, didn't he?" This was apparently not the right answer.

"Harry, what if he had fallen off? You could have been in so much trouble." Her patronizing tone made Harry's temper rise.

"If he had fallen, someone would have taken him to the Hospital Wing and he would have been fine by now."

"How can you be so blasé about hurting another student? I thought…"

"You thought I would just let Malfoy take something of Neville's?" Harry was almost yelling now. Luckily, the common room was nearly deserted.

"Harry, it's not our place to stop people like Malfoy, you should have gone to a teacher."

"Hey, has anyone seen my Remembrall?" a third voice joined the arguing Gryffindors. Both Harry and Hermione snapped around to find Neville climbing through the portrait.

"I saw where it fell; I'll help you find it." Harry leapt to his feet, eager to escape further criticism from Hermione. Neville accepted his offer and the two of them left the common room.

* * *

"Found it!" Neville held the Remembrall triumphantly in his fist. It had taken all afternoon; the two had combed what felt like the entire school grounds until Harry had finally spotted a glint in a nearby tree. "Alright, I'm coming down!" the round faced boy carefully lowered himself from the crook of the branch he had shimmied up until his feet just brushed the grass below. "Oof!" He landed inexpertly on the ground. Harry offered him a hand up which he gladly accepted.

"Sorry I wasn't more help." Harry said with a sigh.

"Don't be, I never would have spotted it up there." Neville motioned towards the branch. "Anyway, looks like you needed rescuing back in the common room."

"Yeah," Harry drew a hand through his unruly hair, "she's pretty mad."

"What did you do, you two seemed to be getting along."

"Oh, I just…uh… Well, after you fell, Malfoy grabbed your Remembrall. He was going to go hide it somewhere, and I hexed his broom to throw him off." Neville's eyes went wide. "He didn't actually fall, and nobody but Hermione figured out what I was doing. They just think Malfoy's a terrible flyer."

"Harry, that's brilliant. Hexing a broomstick's supposed to be really difficult though. How'd you learn that?"

"It's more an issue of focus," Harry said, "It's not really about power, at least with the spell I used. I learnt it in a book about dueling."

Neville nodded absent mindedly. "Cool, maybe I should read up on spells like that. My magic's rubbish." He held up the Remembrall, which was once again filled with a dull, red smoke. "I probably wouldn't be able to remember any of them anyway. Look, I've already forgotten something again."

"It's not the History essay is it?" Harry asked, thinking about his own essay.

"Oh no," Neville said as the Remembrall cleared, "I haven't even started and I left my textbook up in the Hospital Wing. Here could you take this and leave it in the dormitory?" He tossed the small ball to Harry. Harry surprised himself by catching the thing in one hand.

"Sure, want to work on it together? I doubt Hermione's going to be in a talking mood tonight."

"Yeah, sure." Neville called over his shoulder as he ran towards the castle. Harry was left walking alone across the grounds. He rolled the glass ball over in his hand and almost dropped it in shock. It had turned a vibrant shade of scarlet. What could he have forgotten? As far as Harry was concerned, he had quite a good memory; one which he found had been improving slightly since he had started doing his Occlumency practices. But to make the Remembrall turn such a vivid red, he must have forgotten something pretty major. He ran back over his first week and a half of classes, all the facts he had learned, and came up blank. He couldn't think of anything obvious that he was missing. He racked his brains as he headed up to the castle. It wasn't long before he found himself standing before the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Password?"

"Huh, oh, Caput Draconis." Harry shook his head to clear it. The Remembrall was still full of red smoke. "Must have been damaged in the fall." Harry muttered to himself and climbed through the hole.


	7. Chapter 6: Troll Bait

Chapter 6: Troll Bait

The next few weeks passed by quickly. Harry soon found himself caught up in his studies, which without the input of Hermione were much harder. He spent a lot of his time studying with Neville, but as nice as the boy was, his forgetfulness slowed the pace of work to a crawl. It wasn't until early October that Hermione took pity on the two boys and started helping them with their homework again. She even offered to help Harry practice his magic again, as long as he promised not to "waste his time on silly curses." Between classes, homework, practicing magic, and doing his Occlumency exercises, Harry barely had a spare moment to think about the Remembrall. October passed in a similar fashion, Harry threw himself into his work with a passion he had never had while at muggle primary school. Flying lessons continued apace. Harry still felt uncomfortable whizzing about on the school brooms, but Madam Hooch had apparently decided that he had some natural talent and singled him out for extra training. Harry, unable to admit in front of all of his classmates that the thought of flying terrified him, had grudgingly gone to these sessions as well.

The sun shone weakly through the window on Halloween morning. Harry awoke with a start. A prickle ran through his scar along with an odd sense of glee. Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep. The giddiness passed and the prickling faded. Harry rolled out of bed and started dressing for class.

There was a lot of chatter at the breakfast table that morning, especially among the upper years. From what Harry gathered, the Halloween feast was supposed to be amazing. Fred and George had just finished a story about the feast last year, when they had charmed the massive pumpkins to chase the first year Slytherins around the hall.

"Snape must have been mad." Harry said.

"Oh, he was livid," Fred replied

"Of course he just knew it was us, but couldn't prove it, could he, Fred?"

"Not a chance, George."

Harry spent the rest of the day in a state of mild anticipation. Having spent most of his Halloweens with the Dursleys locked in his cupboard while Dudley dressed up in expensive costumes and stuffed his face with chocolate. Harry spent Charms class that day thinking about all the sweets he would soon be enjoying. His preoccupation clearly affected his spell work. This class was focused on the Levitation Charm, a spell that required a very precise swish and flick motion, although Harry mostly found himself performing a lazy roll and jabbing move. The feather he was supposed to be charming simply rolled over on the desk. Beside him, Hermione was lecturing Ron on his incantation.

"You're saying it all wrong. Look, it's Wingardium LeviOHsa." She said exasperatedly, performing the charm perfectly to gently lift the feather into the air. Ron simply rolled his eyes.

"Oh, very good Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, "Five points to Gryffindor." Ron gave the bushy haired witch a dirty look. The bell signifying the end of class tolled up in its tower.

As everyone left the class, Harry heard something that made him stop dead.

"It's Levi-OOOOH-sa not LevioSAR. She's a nightmare, honestly. It's no wonder she's only got one friend! I bet Harry just hangs around with her to crib off her notes." Ron was carrying on to Seamus and Dean, seemingly unaware that Hermione was right behind them.

"Hermione, wait." was all Harry managed to get out before she fled down the hall. Harry shot Ron a venomous look as he chased after the distraught girl.

* * *

"Hermione?" Harry had spent a good part of the evening looking for Hermione. He was about to give up the search when he heard a series of sniffles coming from a nearby bathroom. "Hermione, are you okay?" more sniffles could be heard through the door.

"Go away." Hermione called, barely restrained tears in her voice. Harry pressed his ear to the door and listened carefully for anyone besides Hermione in the room. When he heard nothing, he quickly looked both ways down the corridor, took a deep steadying breath, and ducked into the room. It was mercifully devoid of any girls, save Hermione, who sat propped up against one of the sinks. Her eyes had already ringed with a pinkish tinge. Her head swung up at the opening door.

"Harry!" she hissed, "You can't be in here, this is a girl's toilet." Harry was taken aback at the ice in her voice.

"Hermione, I, Ron doesn't know what he's saying, he's just…"

"Doesn't he, Harry? I guess it makes sense, why would someone famous like you be friends with such a _know-it-all _like me? I thought it would be different here, but I guess that really would be magic."

"Hermione…"

"No, Harry, I understand. Back in school, before I got my letter, lots of people pretended to be my friend so I would help them with their work. I'm used to it by now." She sniffed loudly and glared at Harry. The look almost scared Harry of, but the hurt evident in her voice forced him to stay.

"Hermione, I'm not just pretending. How many friends do you think I had with Dudley threatening to scare off anyone who even talked to me? Look, you've helped me so much since I came here, but that's not why I talk to you. I think it's brilliant how clever you can be, and I think I'd go mad if I didn't have someone to talk to about something other than Quidditch."

"But Ron said…" Hermione looked at him through a light sheen of tears.

"I think Ron's jealous of you a bit," Harry had a flash of insight, "I mean, he has all those brothers, and his magic isn't great, is it?" Hermione seemed to ponder his words for a second, and then stood shakily.

"I guess I've been overreacting a little bit," she said timidly, "You probably think I'm being pretty silly."

"Hey, no one's perfect." Harry gave her a small smile and offered her his hand. She accepted and let him lead her out of the toilets.

"Thanks Harry." Hermione let go of his hand as they exited the room. "Oh no, Harry, we've missed all our afternoon classes! It's almost time for the feast!" she was staring at her watch aghast.

"But you feel better, right?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "If any of the professors ask, you can tell them you were helping me out."

"You mean lie? To a professor?"

"It's not really lying," Harry lied, "I mean, you're helping me just by being my friend." It sounded pretty corny even to Harry, but Hermione managed a weak smile. Her expression went suddenly sour.

"What is that smell?"

Now Harry could smell it. It was perhaps the most horrid smell he had ever witnessed, which to someone who had grown up in the same house as Aunt Petunia's notorious bean casserole, was saying something. A deep grunting noise echoed around the corner of the long corridor. Harry held out an arm to stop Hermione and drew his wand. A massive shadow fell across the floor ahead of them.

"Hagrid?" Harry called hopefully. The guttural snarl that answered was most definitely not from Hagrid.

"Harry, I think we should go the other way." Hermione peered out from behind Harry. But it was too late. A massive, lumbering creature stepped around the corner. Its skin was thick and grey, its eyes small and beady. It carried a thick wooden club over its shoulder. The thing took one look at the two students and roared loudly. It hefted the club and began to lope towards them. Harry lifted his wand and yelled the first spell he could think of.

"_Stupify_!" his wand emitted a weak ray of pink light. Harry's aim was true but the light had little effect as it splashed over the thing's chest. It swung its club in an arc that covered the entire corridor. Harry just about managed to duck under it. Behind him, Hermione gave a sharp squeal as the club clipped her in the shoulder, sending her sprawling.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled over his shoulder. Hermione pushed herself back up on her elbows.

"Harry, look out!" she pointed back at the beast. "That's a mountain troll!" Harry ducked under the troll's next swing and shot another stunner at it. Once again it had no effect. Harry felt his frustration rise above the torrent of fear that was slowly taking a hold of his chest. Nothing he was doing was doing any good. The troll screwed up its beady eyes as it tried to track the dodging boy. Then it hit him. Harry pooled as much power as he could and unleashed a _Flipendo Knockback Jinx_. The sparkling jet of blue light shot out of Harry's wand and hit the troll right in the eye. It roared in pain and began to madly flail about. Harry tumbled backward to avoid the sudden onslaught, but the troll kept on swinging. Harry saw the club swing back towards him and began the motion to summon a shield between him and the rapidly approaching wood. It was a hopeless cause and Harry knew it. The spell was far too advanced for any first year student, especially one with Harry's unstable magic. A translucent bubble began to form in the air before him. The club shredded the half formed shield, barely slowing down. It connected with Harry's side with a horrific crunch. Pain lanced through Harry's chest as ribs gave out under the force of the attack. Through blurry vision and cracked glasses, Harry saw the troll look down on him with a dumb leer. A bright light flooded his field of view, and he lost his tenuous grip on consciousness.

* * *

The first thing that came to Harry's mind as he came to was how comfortable the floor outside the toilets had become while he was out. For a surface made entirely out of stone, it was certainly very soft. The second thing that hit him was how little he seemed to hurt. He remembered a blinding pain before he had gone unconscious, but all he felt now was a dull ache. He opened his eyes to a coolly lit blur. Someone had taken his glasses. A darker blur moved in front of his eyes. A voice came to Harry, as if through a great deal of water.

"Mr. Potter? Can you hear me?" the voice belonged to an older woman that Harry did not recognize. He nodded his head; his mouth was too dry to form words. "Here, drink this." A small flask was pushed against his lips. An oily sensation filled his mouth and throat as he swallowed. The world seemed to rush up to meet him. His glasses had been set back on his face, which, combined with whatever he had just drunk, brought the room into sharp focus. He wasn't, as he first thought, still in the corridor with the troll, but in a soft bed in the Hospital Wing. A grey haired witch was waving a wand over his ribs, which still gave a dull, throbbing ache. She seemed satisfied with whatever results she had gotten, and nodded to someone behind her. Professor McGonagall walked briskly to Harry's bedside.

"Mr. Potter, I'm glad to see you are well." She said to harry before turning to address the other woman. "I would like to speak with him alone; if that is alright with you, Madam Pomfrey? Madam Pomfrey nodded her assent and carried the tray of coloured potions away to a back room. "Now, while it was most courageous of you to defend a fellow classmate like that, one wonders why it was necessary at all." She fixed Harry with a piercing look.

"Pro-professor…" Harry stammered. "We, I, the troll…" He was a little lost for words. "How did the troll get in the castle, Professor?"

"We are still looking into that, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger has, of course, told me why the two of you were not at the Halloween Feast." Harry supposed he should have at least expected that. The girl had always shown their teachers the utmost respect. "Something about helping you with your spellwork?"

"Oh, yes, we were working on our Charms, when that troll thing came round the corner." Harry couldn't believe Hermione had actually lied. "I couldn't stop it, Professor."

"Mr. Potter, it took three professors, myself included, to subdue a mountain troll that large. No one expected a first year student to put a stop to it. Why, it's a miracle you survived at all." Professor McGonagall's words had lost some of their sternness. Harry let them sink in. He had nearly died; why had he been so quick to fight a monster. Then he remembered Hermione being thrown down the corridor by the troll's club.

"Is Hermione okay?" he asked. He looked around to see if she had been brought to the Hospital Wing as well. The other beds were all empty.

"Miss Granger has already been treated for comparatively minor injuries and returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. Rest assured that no one else was harmed in this little encounter." The Transfiguration professor gave him a grave smile. "I will be awarding fifteen points for your bravery in defense of a fellow student and quick action, but don't mistake this as rewarding such foolhardy risk-taking. Believe me, if you had gone haring off looking for a fight with a troll, you would be serving detentions until Christmas. I am going to leave you now, but I will be sending a prefect to check on you in the morning. I suggest you get some rest. I hear repairing injuries such as yours is an exhausting task." Just as she turned to leave, Harry called out.

"Professor, if you don't mind me asking, how did you know where to find us?"

"Once the school had been alerted to the troll's presence, a certain Ronald Weasley came forward. He seemed to be under the impression that he knew where you were."She gave Harry a knowing look and whisked away with a passing nod to the matron. Harry was offered a dilute sleeping draught, but turned it down; he wanted some time to think about the day's events. His mind was a riotous mess, too turbulent for even Occlumency exercises to calm. He had almost died. Suddenly his mind reeled back to the morning he had done to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. Until now the thought that he would one day have to fight for his life hadn't really hit him. Yes, he had bought books and practiced spells, but it had been more of a game to him, something fun and interesting to do in his spare hours. Now cold realization filled his mind. He would have to fight. And if his match with a simple mountain troll was anything to go on, what chance did he have against the most powerful dark wizard in an age. Clearly, with his magic, he couldn't afford to attempt to overpower Voldemort in a duel. Harry lay awake in thought. If he couldn't fight as hard others, then he better start fighting twice as smart. He ran the fight with the troll over in his mind. He had jumped in with no planning at all, casting any spell that came to mind. He remembered the Jinx he had cast before the troll went berserk. Clearly not the smartest move, but it gave harry a thought. The jinx had not been particularly powerful, but with careful targeting it had managed to do some damage. He thought back further to the time he had hexed Malfoy. He shouldn't be wasting his time learning spells that required him to use power to beat down an enemy's defenses. He'd have to look up more spells that required focus and willpower to work. But that could wait till the morning. Professor McGonagall had been right, he was so very tired.

* * *

"Harry?" Harry awoke to find himself still in the Hospital Wing, although the angle of the sun outside the curtains told him that it was now late morning. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose from where they had slipped during the night.

"Hermione?" the girl was sitting next to his bed with a rapidly growing grin on her face.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Hermione lifted a plate of eggs up from the bed's small side table. "I brought you some breakfast, you slept through it you know." Harry tucked into the cold eggs with relish. He looked up to find Hermione looking at him oddly.

"I'm sorry; I haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday." He said sheepishly.

"Oh, that's not what I was thinking about," Hermione started, "It's just, you looked so, so broken back there. And it was all my fault. If I hadn't been sulking in that toilet." Harry reached out a hand to stop her.

"It's not your fault, you weren't the one who decided to take on the thing by himself." Harry's words seemed to ensure her. "And anyway, I'm all fixed now, see." He waved his arm in the air to prove that he had a full range of motion. He hid the twinge it triggered behind a cough. "What happened by the way? All I remember was a flash of light."

"Oh, it was amazing," Hermione seemed to forget her earlier concern, "It was just after that awful thing hit you, when Professor McGonagall came running down the corridor behind me. I've never seen her so angry. She waved her wand and shot this brilliant flash of light at the troll. Then Professor Quirrel and Professor Snape came after her and shot these threads of fire at it." Harry nodded. That explained the light.

"I guess it's just lucky Ron decided to stop being such a prat." He said.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Hermione said coldly. Harry noted the cross expression on her face. "You're not still angry at him are you?" Harry asked. It was apparently the wrong question to ask.

"Of course I'm angry at him." She snapped with surprising ire.

"I thought we figured that he was just jealous."

"Yes, well, that was before you almost died, wasn't it." Hermione's features creased as if she had just had an incredibly unpleasant thought.

"But I didn't die." Harry said dumbly.

"That's not the point, Harry," She shot back, "How can you be so calm about this? They say it's a miracle that you're still breathing." Her words were gaining a hysterical edge.

"It wouldn't be the first time I survived the impossible," Harry said hotly, "or did you forget how I got this?" he pulled back his hair to expose the scar beneath. Hermione's mouth shut with a snap, her face aghast.

"I can't believe you'd… Honestly." She stood suddenly. "I hope you get better soon." She said curtly, and left the room. Harry felt a little guilty that he had once again leant on the circumstances of his childhood to manipulate those he considered his friends. 'Who was she to be mad anyway? I'm the one who was in danger.' He tried to justify to himself. Still, he couldn't shake the image of Hermione being thrown to the ground, and how it must have felt for her to see her friend broken in front of her. When the matron finally cleared him to leave the Hospital Wing that afternoon, he felt even worse than he had facing down the troll.


	8. Chapter 7: Foul Play

Chapter 7: Foul Play

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor Common Room after a particularly nasty Potions class, he found the room awash with whispers. A few of the younger years looked at his with a sense of awe. From a seat by the fire, Fred and George Weasley gave Harry matching thumbs ups. Someone must have told the school what had happened the night before. Hermione brushed past Harry and headed straight for the girl's dormitories. She had refused to talk to him in Potions, forcing Harry to share a cauldron with Neville. Harry had been able to prevent any catastrophic reactions, but he had had to endure a torrent of snide comments from Snape, who had picked up a nasty new temper along with a strange limp. Harry let himself fall back into a comfy chair close the portrait hole. He had homework piling up already from the classes he had missed chasing after Hermione and without her he would probably to up late working.

"Mind if we sit here?" Neville and Ron were standing by the seat across from him. Neville shared some of his fellow Gryffindor's quiet awe; Ron looked a little green behind his many freckles.

"Yeah, sure." Harry said, pulling his Transfiguration book out onto his lap.

"Is it true what they're saying? That you fought the mountain troll." Neville asked in a hushed tone. Harry simply nodded.

"Harry, I'm glad you made it." Ron added awkwardly. Harry fixed him with a glare that made him back up slightly.

"Oh good." Harry began. He wanted to rail on Ron for being such a prat and for making Hermione cry, but he stopped himself. Ron had at least brought help, without which he would probably be being buried right now, rather than doing homework. "Thanks, you know, for saving me." He finished. Ron seemed to regain some of his healthy colour.

"Yeah, well, couldn't just let a troll eat you." Ron's ears had gone a little pink. "Right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry said, "It'd be great if maybe I wasn't down there in the first place though." Ron and Neville both froze. "Relax, I'm not mad, but Hermione is. You should probably apologize."

"Harry, you know how she is. She's always ahead on everything."

"Maybe it's because she works hard, Ron. And besides, you really hurt her." Ron seemed to accept this.

"I guess you're right. She doesn't have to rub it in though." Ron muttered. Neville took this moment to chime in.

"You know Harry; it's been a while since we worked together on the homework. Would you mind helping me and Ron? We're completely swamped." Harry laid his book out on the table between them.

"Alright, what do you need help on?" It was just around curfew when the three of them finally set aside their books and ascended the stairs to the boy's dormitories.

* * *

The weather grew frightfully chilly over the next week. Hermione continued to avoid Harry, along with Ron and Neville, who had been all been working on the homework together. It bothered Harry a little, but he didn't have much time to do anything about it. He had been reading and rereading _Dueling for Dummies_ looking for low power spells. His search had yielded some results, but the overwhelming trend seemed to show that the spells that didn't rely on raw strength seemed to rely on complicated incantations and advanced wand work. On top of that, Harry's Occlumency didn't seem to be advancing in any appreciable way. Harry found himself increasingly agitated. It was late one morning after an especially disastrous Occlumency practice that Harry was awoken by a rather excited Ron.

"What's going on?" Harry grumbled. "Isn't it the weekend?"

"Yeah, the weekend of the first Quidditch match." Ron said. "You're going to be sitting with me and Neville, right?"

"Yes. Of course I am." Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shoved his glasses roughly over his eyes. Ron stood before him bedecked in the red and gold of Gryffindor house. He had obviously been up for a while. While Harry didn't share his love of Quidditch, his enthusiasm was infectious. Harry dressed warmly for the weather and followed Ron and Neville down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Down at the end of the Gryffindor table, the Quidditch team sat huddled over platters of bacon and sausage. Among them sat Fred and George, a trio of older girls, a tall, strongly built boy, and a nervous looking upperclassman. Harry waved to them as they passed. Fred gave him a cheery grin, but the rest of the team looked fairly grim.

"I hear the new Seeker they found is rubbish." Ron whispered once they were out of earshot, "Fred and George say that Wood, that's the captain's name, has been going spare."

"So what does the Seeker do again?" Harry asked. He hadn't really gotten a clear image of how the wizarding sport worked.

"Well," Ron began, "the Seeker catches the Golden Snitch, earning his or her team one hundred and fifty points, which usually wins them the game."

"Sounds like a pretty important position." Harry said. Ron agreed as they sat at the table. Harry loaded up his plate with bacon. Soon enough the team departed from the hall to a light patter of applause from the Gryffindors. Their opponents, the Slytherins, also left to their own table's applause. Harry munched happily on a slice of bacon as Ron carried on about various Seekers that played for the professional teams.

"We better get out there, they'll be starting soon." Neville said. Harry snapped out of his contentment.

"Let's go then." Ron said brightly. The three of them hurried off out onto the grounds. Across the grass rose the shape of the Quidditch stadium, a great ring of wood and canvas bedecked in the four school colours. Already a few players were doing some practice laps on their brooms. The walk to the stadium was frigid. Harry and the others wrapped their cloaks tightly about their shoulders and huddled closely together. The players descended as they got close to the pitch. Already students were streaming up into the stands. Harry led the two boys to a row near the front of the Gryffindor section where they took their seats. Harry looked around the now crowded stadium. The houses sat segregated into their own sections, with a raised box held above them all. From where Harry sat, he could see that the box was full of teachers.

"Alright 'Arry?" a gruff voice came from behind Harry's back. Harry turned to find himself staring at a large metal belt buckle. Harry looked up into the twinkling eyes of Hagrid.

"Hagrid!" Harry yelled as he stood, "How have you been?" the large man smiled.

"A lot better since you got out o' the 'ospital Wing, I'll tell ya that much." Hagrid said with a wink. "takin' on a troll. A little roudy ain't they."

"Yeah Hagrid, very… rowdy." Harry gave him a slightly bemused look. The man certainly had an odd appraisal of the troll's behavior. "Are you here to watch the Quidditch match, Hagrid?"

"O course, can't miss a good Quidditch match." Hagrid beamed, "I 'alf expected you to be playing 'Arry, what with your Dad being as good as 'e was."

"My Dad?" Harry asked.

"Didn't ya know? Yer Dad was a star Chaser back in his day." Hagrid happily expounded. Harry's father had been a star Quidditch player. And Harry couldn't even _ride_ a broom, much less play the game. A booming voice echoed throughout the stadium. The Quidditch teams were shooting onto the field. They came to rest in the middle of the pitch, where Madam Hooch stood waiting for them. After a short speech, the teams kicked off and the match began. The players flitted about in flashes of red and green. Harry found himself engrossed in the action. He watched the Gryffindor Seeker drift lazily high above the pitch. He found himself searching for the Golden Snitch.

"This is your first match, right Harry?" Ron asked from beside him.

"Huh? Oh yeah, it's brilliant!" Harry said, eyes still locked on the pitch.

Then he saw it. A light flutter of golden wings buzzed around the Slytherin goal hoops. Harry willed the Gryffindor Seeker to spot the tiny winged ball, but he seemed to be distracted by the three Chasers. Just when the Seeker seemed to catch on to the Snitch's location, it whizzed of in a flash, and was gone. As Harry urgently scanned the pitch for signs of it, his eyes caught on a rapidly growing black speck.

"Tha's odd, what's that bludger doin'?" said Hagrid's booming voice. Suddenly Harry found himself being thrown to the side. There was a sickening crunch and a howl of pain. Harry turned to see Ron holding his arm to his chest. What looked like a large, black cannonball ricocheted of the stands and shot back into the air.

"Ron, what happened?" Harry asked in shock, but the red haired boy just pointed back upwards.

"It's coming back!" he yelled. Harry followed his pointing finger. The cannonball was arching back at him. He rolled to the side and the ball plunged through the bench he had just left. The wood splintered as the enchanted iron ploughed into it with bone breaking force. "It's gone rogue!" Ron yelled incredulously, once again gripping his arm. The Quidditch match continued unabated behind them as scared Gryffindors began to shrink back from where the bludger had landed. Suddenly there was a burst of splinters as the ball flew back out of the stands just to Harry's right. Harry tripped over the hem of his winter cloak and went tumbling to the floor. The bludger turned in a sharper arc this time and aimed itself right at Harry's head. Harry fumbled for his wand as the lump of iron flew closer.

"Finite Incantatum!" the bludger glowed faintly for a second and then flew powerlessly over Harry's shoulder. Air whistled in his ear at its passing. Harry sat stunned for a second. He blinked owlishly and looked around. Ron still sat with his arm held close to his chest, Neville had fallen from his seat into the row above him, and Hermione Granger stood with her arm outstretched, wand in hand.

"Hermione, that was brilliant!" Harry said as the two left the Hospital Wing. They had just helped a rather despondent Ron out of the stands and up to the castle. He had seemed just as put out by Slytherin's crushing victory than by the broken arm he now sported. Madam Pomfrey had assured them that Ron's arm would be fixed before lunch, so they had left for the common room.

"You're not the only one practicing extra spells you know." Hermione said matter-of-factly, though her face showed the slightest hint of pride.

"I really owe you one." Harry replied, "That bludger was out for blood." Hermione looked at him seriously.

"I believe we're even now, Harry. Something about you fighting a troll." Harry blushed slightly. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I guess you're mad at me again, right?" he said glumly.

"Don't be stupid!" Hermione said harshly. She fixed Harry with a determined look. "You had nothing to do with that bludger, but if you insist on endangering yourself on a monthly basis, you'll need someone who actually knows what they're doing." Harry looked at her questioningly. "Oh come on Harry, do you think I could just stand around and watch you walk into bludgers?" She grinned at him.

"I suppose not," Harry said, "I'm sorry for scaring you."

Hermione made a sound in the back of her throat. "I wasn't scared, just shocked that you hadn't even thought about yourself before jumping into things. But you don't, do you?" she stopped Harry and turned him to face her.

"I guess it helps sometimes, not to think about things. I'd go mad if I had to think about whatever danger was around the next corner or about my parents…" his voice wavered a little.

"Well I think you should just plan things out some more, alright?" she looked him straight in the eye and put on a determined expression. He met her gaze and nodded.

"Deal," he replied, "Oh, and I know that Ron hasn't said anything, but he's really sorry about Halloween."

"It'd be nice if he actually told me that." Hermione said as they began walking again.

"Well, you know Ron, or I guess you don't, but he did push me out of the way of a bludger today, I don't think he really means to hurt people."

"I guess I can accept that." Hermione sighed, "I suppose you want me to start helping you all with your homework again, I see you three struggle."

"Would you?" Harry asked quickly, "Not that it's the only reason we want you around." He added hastily.

"I suppose so," Hermione acquiesced, "but he better pull his weight."

"Thanks, Hermione."

* * *

Lunch that day was an unhappy affair for all but one corner of the Gryffindor table. Harry sat between Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, as happy as he had been in a while. He had his friend back, and was well on the way towards making two more. Ron had emerged from the Hospital Wing completely healed and even cheerful at the prospect of help on his homework. When the bell for lunch rang, the three students joined Neville at the staff table end of the hall. Lunch that day was particularly sumptuous, though few of the Gryffindors seemed to be enjoying it. Still in their Quidditch robes, the Gryffindor team sat huddled together talking glumly.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen Fred and George this quiet." Ron noted through a mouth full of string beans.

"Ron, mind your manners." Hermione chided. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Is she going to be like this the whole time?" Ron asked. Hermione merely rolled her eyes right back at him.

"Honestly Ron, I can't believe you can eat just eat so much." Hermione said exasperatedly. Ron replied with a cheeky grin.

"I'm a growing boy, Hermione. Anyway, like I was saying, from what Fred and George have told me, we haven't won the cup for ages, not since my older brother Bill left school. Wood's been at them to step up their game. I guess it's finally getting to them." Now Ron looked a little glum.

"Well, it's just one game, isn't it?" Harry said, "We can still take the cup."

"Not if the team keeps playing like that." Neville whispered. "No offence, Ron."

"It's alright," Ron replied, "just don't let Fred and George hear you say that, you'll end up with spiders in your bed or something." The thought of bed spiders didn't seem to appeal to Neville, who quickly clapped his hand over his mouth and threw a couple of quick glances down the table to the twins.

"I wish we could do something about it." Harry groaned.

"You should try out, Harry," Ron said, "didn't Madam Hooch want you to take extra lessons for being great at flying?"

"Oh no, no no no no. I can't join the team." Harry protested. His face reddened as his new friends turned to look at him. "I'm, uh, scared of heights." He Mumbled.

"Scared of heights?" Ron asked. "How can the Boy Who Lived be scared of heights?"

"Why don't you just yell it to the entire Great Hall?" Harry growled at Ron, "I'm sure Malfoy would love to hear you." Ron looked a little sheepish. The conversation continued in quieter tones until the food vanished from the tables. Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room alongside his friends.

The following Monday, Harry sat down to a double Transfiguration lesson. Professor McGonagall seemed to think their mastery of inanimate to inanimate transfiguration had reached an appropriate level. This lesson would begin with learning transfiguration of animate objects into inanimate ones. The task set for this lesson was turning worms into strings. Half way through the lesson, Harry's worm had taken on a braided texture, but still insisted on wriggling away from him. Hermione, of course, had a small bundle of string tied in a variety of knots, while Ron had managed to accidently cut his worm in half with his wand.

"You know, Harry, I've been thinking," Hermione began, "about the bludger." She added in a whisper. Harry's interest was piqued.

"What is it Hermione?" he asked. She looked around and leaned in closer.

"Well, it was obviously bewitched to attack you, wasn't it?"

Harry felt a puzzled expression slip onto his face.

"I was watching that bludger the whole time," Hermione whispered, "It didn't attack anyone, it just flew around until it suddenly dive bombed you."

"You were watching a bludger?" Harry asked.

"Yes, the players were making me dizzy." Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Anyway, from what I've read in _Quidditch Through the Ages_, it takes a powerful wizard or witch to bewitch a bludger, and it usually wears off fairly quickly, because the two enchantments on the iron conflict."

"So what are you saying?" Harry asked; ducking away as the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall passed over them.

"I'm saying, whoever cursed that bludger, had to have done it just before the match, they were probably there in the stadium."

"In the stadium…" Harry asked. He thought back to the match. How many people there would want him dead? Draco Malfoy? Certainly they were far from friends, even enemies, but Harry didn't think Malfoy would try to actually kill him, would he?

"I bet it was Snape." Ron's voice brought Harry out of his thoughts.

"I don't think so." Was Harry's knee jerk reaction. When Ron and Hermione both looked at him oddly, he feigned indifference. "Why would Snape want to whack me with a bludger?"

"It's pretty obvious he's got it in for you." Ron said earnestly, "I mean, just look at how he gets on at you during Potions. It's like you stole his favorite puppy or something. Harry snickered at the thought of Snape stroking a small dog.

"Ron's right for once, Harry, _Professor_ Snape isn't exactly fair to you, although I hardly think he's going to murder anyone. I mean, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't hire someone who wanted to kill us, would he?"

"Professor Dumbledore's hiring process is not a subject to be discussed in my class," Professor McGonagall's voice brought all three of them around. "Now, you would all do well to focus on your coursework. Mr. Weasley, please pick up a new worm from the bucket. Good work, Mr. Potter." Harry looked down at his worm, which had stopped wriggling, though whether that was from a complete transfiguration or just the fact that it had died, Harry wasn't sure.

"Um, thanks, Professor." He said quickly. By the time class was over, Harry had managed the complete transfiguration several times, and was quite proud of himself. Professor McGonagall assigned an essay on inanimate transfiguration and ushered them all out of her classroom. Hermione gestured for them to follow her. They all ended up in the library.

"So it's agreed then, we try and find out who's trying to hurt Harry?" Hermione said as soon as they had found a table.

"Hang on a second, Hermione," Harry began, "I don't want to…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, we can't just let whoever it is keep taking swings at you and not do anything to stop it. Now, I was thinking we'd begin by taking a look down by the pitch, try to find some clue as to who did this."

"Don't forget the bludger itself, that'll probably help us, right? But where would it be taken if it went bad?" Harry felt himself getting into the investigation.

"Probably in Madam Hooch's office." Ron said; chin resting on hand in thought. He looked up. "But that'll be locked, and besides, she's there all the time."

"So we can't look there for now, but the Quidditch pitch is always open to students. We can look there first."

"Er, Hermione, what exactly are we going to be looking for? I mean, if someone did this with magic, we can hardly just go down there dusting for prints." Harry said. Ron sat, mouthing 'dusting for what?' with a confused look on his face, but Hermione flushed.

"Oh, I guess that is a bit silly of me. I'll have to find something on wizarding detective work first I suppose. You two wait here, I'll be right back. Hermione delved into the library shelves, leaving Harry and Ron alone.

"Detective work, sounds like an Auror's job to me." Ron said indifferently, gazing around the silent library. This close to lunchtime the dusty room was empty of all but the most dedicated students. And Ron. "I'm starved; I hope this doesn't take too long."

"Aurors, what are they? Harry asked. He was sure he had read something about them, somewhere.

"The Aurors are dark wizard catchers, kind of like muggle poleese men. They go from place to place hunting down wanted criminals and arrest them."

"Sounds more like the American marshalls." Harry said thoughtfully. At Ron's questioning look he continued. "In the old American West, they would have these marshalls who would go from town to town chasing bandits and outlaws. That sounds like the Aurors."

"I guess it does," Ron said, "How come you know so much about these marshalls?"

"They make a lot of films about them in the muggle world; I used to hear them from my cupboard." Ron nodded. "So you think the Auror's do a lot of detective work?" Harry continued.

"Oh yeah, when I was a little kid my Dad would get me these old _Tales of the Aurors_ comic books. They'd track down a different dark wizard every issue, using spells and the like. I'm pretty sure the spells in the book weren't real, probably didn't want kids trying them on each other, but real Aurors would know some real magic."

"Does your Dad know any Aurors?" Harry asked. Ron thought for a bit.

"Yeah, I think I've heard him mention a few, but from what he says, they tend to be a bit nutty. I wouldn't want to meet some of them."

"We'll have to find something…" Harry began when Hermione dropped an armful of books onto the table with a muffled flump.

"So I found a few books that might be useful." She said.

"A few books? Hermione, you have half the bloody library here." Ron said, holding up _Auguring for the Wronged _in one hand and _Forensic Charms for the Byling Mage_ in the other.

"Hardly, Ron, It's only five or so books. I'll start with this one, you can start with these." She grabbed _Forensics_ out of Ron's hands and propped it open against the stack.

"Hermione, don't you think we should head down for lunch?" Harry said. Ron gave him a thankful look.

"Why don't you two go down, I'll catch up?" Hermione said from behind her stack of tomes. Harry and Ron quickly bolted from the library and down to the Great Hall. The long house tables were piled high with stacks of pies. Harry slipped a particularly juicy looking steak and kidney pie onto his plate. Ron went for a handful of smaller pork pies.

"So do you think she'll find something?" Ron asked through a mouthful of pie.

"Of course she will, she's Hermione." Harry replied.

* * *

"I didn't find anything!" Hermione said in exasperation as Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole. "Some of those books aren't even in English, and those I have found are very old, they talk about using rituals and I think one of them required fresh chicken's blood."

"Hermione, I know you're probably upset about this, but…" Harry started.

"Upset? I'm thrilled. I haven't had a challenge like this before. I brought some books back." She motioned towards a bulging book bag.

"Oh," Harry said, momentarily surprised, "good. I was just saying, we brought you some pie." Ron held out a plate of the pork pies.

"Oh thanks, I'm starved!" Hermione took the plate in one hand and her bag in the other and rushed up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.

"Mental." Ron sighed.

* * *

Author's Note:

This will be te last chapter for a while, unfortunately. Look forward to more in November, when i will be attempting to fulfill the National Novel Writers Month challenge with this story. See you then!

DasPitt: With luck, this will cover the entire war against Voldemort.

Fawkes Flame: Fear not, the origin of the Other will eventually be explained. It won't be soon though, I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. Or not, but that would make me sad.


	9. Chapter 8: Christmas and Cloaks

Chapter 8: Christmas and Cloaks

Over the next month, Harry saw very little of Hermione. Apart from classes, Hermione could be assured to be cooped up in the library, or else sitting up in her room. Ron too had drifted, now that Hermione was too busy to help out with essays. Harry himself managed to muddle through on his own, but it was extremely lonely. As the weather turned slowly from damp and cold to simply cold, Harry found himself wrapped up in his bed earlier and earlier every day. His Occlumency skills had seemingly plateaued to the point that Harry wasn't sure a boy of his age could improve past. From reading ahead he had gleaned that it was incredibly rare for anyone not yet an adult to display any particular skill in the art, though with Occlumency's obscurity it was unlikely eleven year olds had ever attempted it before. So Harry sat in bed night after night running over the same exercises. While he hadn't gained any further control over his emotions, his focus was still slowly getting better, and he couldn't remember his memory ever being this good. It was the morning after an extended practice that Harry stumbled down to the common room rubbing his forehead. Buried under the usual headaches that accompanied Occlumency exercises, a prickling in his scar was bothering him again. The night before he had had a very strange dream about being slowly bound by a long, purple scarf while a black bat tugged at his hair.

He blearily looked around the empty common room. The fire was freshly stoked to ward of the cold that penetrated even into the castle itself. A rustling of parchment caught Harry's attention. An official looking poster hung from the notice board. Harry shuffled over to read it.

_Attention Hogwarts Students,_

_It is once again approaching the end of term. With the beginning of the Winter Holidays fast approaching, it is essential that those students choosing to stay here at Hogwarts to inform their Head of House before next Wednesday, so that an accurate tally may be made before the Hogwarts Express leaves Hogsmeade… _

Harry finished staring at the parchment for a few minutes after he finished reading before his brain started working again. The thought of returning to the Dursleys' struck him as a particularly gruesome way to spend his Christmas holidays, not that staying at the castle would present a great time. From what he had heard, most everyone in Gryffindor house was leaving for their homes. At least Harry would have some peace and quiet, along with a deal of privacy to practice some magic. He had found a few spells he wanted to try out, an activity that would run all the more smoothly without Hermione's disapproving looks at his interest in dueling.

"Wicked." Harry spun at the words from behind him. Ron stood in a pair of worn pajamas and a scratty t-shirt. "Classes are over on Wednesday, that's only what, three more days. And we get to miss Potions." Harry shared his enthusiasm for avoiding Snape's class. Harry's hard work in Potions had utterly failed to earn the Potion Master's respect or even mild approval. Harry was starting to doubt whether whoever wrote The List knew Snape at all.

"You looking forward to going home?" Harry asked dozily.

"Nah," Ron answered, "My Mum and Dad are going to visit my brother Charlie in Romania. I'll be staying here with Fred and George _and Percy_." This last line came out sounding rather glum.

"Oh, what does Charlie do?" Harry asked.

"He's a Dragon Keeper." Ron said simply. "Mum goes spare about him a lot of the time; I think that's why she wants to visit him so bad. Wants to make sure he's looking after himself okay, you know?" Ron chuckled slightly. Harry thought for a second how nice it would be to have someone worrying about how _he_ was being taken care of for a change, but dismissed the thought.

"I guess, yeah." Harry said, miles away.

"So I guess you're staying too?" Ron questioned.

"Oh yeah, the Dursleys'd probably just laugh if I turned up on their doorstep for Christmas."

* * *

The two days of classes passed with little to recommend them. Students bustled from class to class with their cloaks drawn tightly about themselves. Harry found himself alone in the library late Tuesday night putting the finishing touches on a History of Magic essay. His mind wasn't really in it; he scribbled the last few lines and rolled up the parchment. 'Good enough,' he thought, 'not like a history lesson is going to help me fight the Dark Lord.' The thought had been hanging like a pall lately. Harry got the feeling his odd dreams, the attempts on his life, and the prickling in his scar were all related to Lord Voldemort in some way. He just wished Hermione would have better luck finding some way to track the person who sent the bludger after him. Harry was no expert in magical detective work, but from what he had heard from muggle crime shows, a trail went cold in days, and the Quidditch game was almost a month ago.

Harry set aside his essay and pulled over the Flourish and Blott's winter catalogue that had been circulated around the Hogwart's common rooms for students wishing to do some shopping before returning home. Harry had briefly paged through it and picked out some tomes that dealt with subtle and low power dueling. He was skimming again through the defense section when his eyes caught a title that stopped his breath. This would be perfect.

* * *

"I'll miss you Harry." Hermione gave the boy a short hug and dashed off towards the growing crowd of students readying to board the Hogwarts Express.

"Yeah, you too." Harry said, more to himself than anyone else. Hermione turned back over her shoulder and beamed at him. She motioned to her book bag and mouthed the words 'I'll be reading.' Harry smiled back at her as she left the Great Hall and followed Hagrid down to the waiting carriages. Harry turned and sprinted towards the Owlery. The way to the smelly tower that held the school's owls was clear. Harry saw the line of carriages leave the school from the Owlery's high windows. He coaxed a school owl down from one of the high perches. A small, dark brown owl alighted on his outstretched arm. Harry tied two letters to the owl's leg and deposited a loose copper Knut into a small pouch attached to its other leg. He waved the owl off of his arm and it took flight. Harry watched it head off into the distance with a sense of satisfaction.

The first letter was addressed to Gringotts, asking for a sum of money to be moved from his vault to Flourish and Blott's. Ron had told him that the goblins rarely facilitated such deals, but Harry figured a politely worded letter from the Boy Who Lived would do the trick.

The second letter went to Flourish and Blott's informing them that a sum of money would be coming by goblin, and to send a certain book to the address of one Hermione Granger. Finding the right address had been a harrowing experience, it was much harder than Harry had expected asking the girl where she lived. Harry really hoped the book would get there in time.

* * *

Harry's head had barely touched the pillow when all of a sudden he was being shaken awake. Ron stood over him clad in a lumpy jumper of deep maroon.

"Wake up, Harry, it's Christmas!" Ron returned to where he had been opening a small pile of his own presents. Harry put in his glasses after rubbing his eyes. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and hit his toe on something heavy. He bit back a yell and grabbed at the offending item. Bringing it up to his eyes he saw a thick, rectangular objected wrapped in a crinkly, festive paper. A Christmas present. A present addressed to him, in Hermione's neat handwriting. He looked down at the ground next to his bed. There was a roughly wrapped conical package, and a plain white envelope.

"I was just going to leave you there, but you looked like you were going to sleep the whole of Christmas."

"Huh, oh yeah." Harry looked up from his gifts, "Ron, look I've got presents."

"Yeah, why wouldn't you." Ron said, and then his eyes fell on the gifts at Harry's feet. He looked a little upset about something. Even partially disassembled, Ron's pile dwarfed Harry's by a considerable amount. "You don't, um, have a lot of presents." He stated flatly.

"More than I've had before." Harry said. He slipped a finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a note from the Dursleys, telling him they would not be sending him anymore presents from now on. The back of the note looked like it had once borne a fifty pence piece. Now it just had twin imprints where tape had been torn off of the card. He cast the note aside. Perhaps threatening the Dursleys with Hagrid had not been a good step in improving their relationship with him. He looked up to find Ron still watching.

"It's just a note from the Dursleys, they won't be sending me any more presents. I'm not really that upset, last year I got a pair of my Uncle's socks." Something very strange flashed across Ron's face.

"I, sorry mate, I didn't know." He seemed lost for words, "here, have these." He shoved an opened box of chocolate frogs into Harry's hands. Half of them were already opened. Harry wasn't quite sure what was happening until he looked back at Ron. The strange look was back. Harry didn't recognize it at first, but then he saw it for what it was, Ron had a look of concern etched into his features.

"Yeah, alright." Harry ripped a frog out of one of the boxes and stuffed it in his mouth, "thanks mate, don't think I've ever gotten chocolate for Christmas before."

Ron nodded curtly. "It's nothing. Hey, you should open that other one." He pointed to Hermione's gift. Harry smiled and tore the neatly wrapped gift open. He chuckled as he read the title of the book inside.

"_One Hundred and Fifty Alternatives to Dueling._" Harry held the book up for Ron to see.

"Why would someone get you that?"

"It's from Hermione. She got a little cross at me when I hexed Malfoy's broom that first flying lesson."

"Wicked, that was you? I thought Malfoy was just a terrible flyer. All talk, you know?" Ron was now looking at Harry with a look of awe.

"Yeah, I learned about it in a book I got." Harry reached over to his side table and withdrew _Dueling for Dummies._ "I got it before school."

"Could you? Do you think you could teach me some of that stuff?" Ron looked shyly at his feet.

"I didn't know you were interested in dueling." Harry responded. Someone to practice dueling with was a very attractive idea.

"Well, I'm not generally. It's just, with that ferret Malfoy around, can't hurt to know a few hexes and jinxes." Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"If you want to practice, I'll be happy to help. I've been looking for someone myself. Hermione doesn't approve, of course."

"You're talking like you two are married or something." Ron said. Harry looked at him sharply. "Or like brother and sister." He hastily added.

"Yeah, well, maybe we should go down or something. I'm starving."

"Me too," Ron seemed to forget their conversation, "You get dressed; I'll be down in the common room." He left his gifts unopened and walked out the door. Harry pulled a ratty old sweatshirt out of his trunk and pulled on a pair of jeans over his pajamas. He half wished he could be putting on a Weasley jumper of his own.

"Look who's decided to join us." Fred looked up from where he and George were wrestling a Weasley jumper over Percy's head. The momentary distraction allowed the older Weasley enough space to duck out from under the twins' grasp. He stormed from the common room red faced and seething.

"Come on Perce, is that any way to show your Christmas spirit?" George crowed after him, "you grumpy git," He added as the Fat Lady's picture swung closed with a snap.

"Harry!" Fred was already at Harry's side with the jumper. "Be a dear and put this on!"

"It can be 'P' for Potter!" George agreed enthusiastically. "Come on Harry, someone has to wear it. Family tradition you know." Fred nodded sagely, his face held in mock sternness.

"Oh, leave him alone," Ron half yelled. He went quite red as the twins turned on him.

"What's that Ron? You said you want another round with the spiders?" Ron's face went very pale. "Only joking ickle brother, you should learn to relax." Fred slipped an arm around his younger brother's shoulders, while George did the same to Harry. "Come on, we've got to get to the Great Hall before Percy goes and hides with the other Prefects."

* * *

The Christmas feast had to be the most incredible display of food Harry had ever seen. The house tables had been replaced by a single long table covered in what seemed like every possible food imaginable. From Harry's spot almost halfway down the table he could reach a platter of sliced turkey, a veritable mountain of vegetables, great boats of rich smelling gravy, and a sculptured mass of mashed potato shaped in the likeness of Hogwarts Castle. He smiled and chatted as the students and teachers around him ate and drank merrily. At the head of the table, Dumbledore regarded the table with a cheery glint in his eye. As the piles of food slowly diminished, succulent desserts began to shimmer into existence. Harry served himself a great big bowl of strawberries buried in whipped cream and sprinkled with sugar. As far as he was concerned, each spoonful was close to Heaven. The only person who did not seem to be enjoying himself was Snape, who sat between Dumbledore and Quirrel with a permanent scowl etched across his brow. He looked across at Harry and a flash seemed to fill his dark eyes. Harry quickly averted his gaze. There was something odd about the Potion Master's stare, something Harry couldn't quite place. A voice at his elbow distracted him from his musings.

"Pull a cracker?" Ron was offering a bright crimson cracker edged in gold. Harry took one end and tugged. There was a bright plume of sparks and a burst of red smoke. A wooly bobble hat fell from the open end of the cracker.

"Alright, that one's yours, pull one of mine." Harry picked an Emerald green cracker up of the table and offered it to Ron. Again there was a burst of sparks and a puff of smoke. A small green bowler hat fell neatly onto the table. Harry popped it onto his head.

"Doesn't quite suit you, mate." Ron said as he tugged the wooly hat over his ears. Harry smiled sleepily. The feast had made him quite sleepy.

* * *

The climb to Gryffindor Tower was an arduous journey for Harry and the Weasleys. The portraits along the way seemed to be in varying states of merriment. A few of the frames stood empty, their occupants off partying with other paintings. When the young Gryffindors reached the Fat Lady, she was entertaining another witch.

"Password?" She said. Her voice held the slight lilt of a glass or two of wine. It took a few tries to get the password across before the portrait swung open to allow access. The Gryffindors lounged in front of the fire for a while before the twins bid the room good bye and left to pursue some mischief elsewhere in the castle. Harry lost very badly in a game of wizard's chess to Ron, who turned out to be rather good at it. Harry eventually gave it up as a bad job and waved off an invitation to another game. He dragged himself off for a quick nap up in the dormitory. Outside the window, snow had begun to fall in thick flurries. Harry kicked of his shoes and shrugged out of his robes. His wand fell out of his pocket and down to the floor with a clatter. Harry snatched at it as it rolled under the bed. Harry reached under the bed, looking for the wand, but his fingers brushed thick paper. He snatched at the paper and dragged a simply wrapped package out from under his bed. There was a note attached to the top of the parcel.

_Your Father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it Well._

Harry carefully tore open the parcel. A smooth, silvery fabric flowed out of the open parcel like water. Harry held the fabric out in front of him. It shimmered and fluttered like a curtain. It looked like some kind of cloak. Harry stood and threw the cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head. He stood in the middle of the room admiring the feel of the flowing fabric. The door opened behind him.

"Hey Harry, you won't believe what Fred and George are doing. Harry?" Ron had a confused look on his face.

"Do you like the cloak? It feels kind of weird. I think it's one of my Christmas presents, must have been kicked under the bed." Ron went pale.

"How are you doing that, Harry? It's not funny." Now it was Harry's turn to pale. Couldn't Ron see him? Was the cloak cursed? Had someone sent him a cursed gift? Harry tore the cloak off his shoulders and let it pool on the floor. Ron's jaw dropped.

"How'd you…"

"You can see me again?" Harry began to feel a sense of relief begin to fill him. Ron nodded. Harry picked the cloak back up.

"No way, an invisibility cloak? Those are supposed to be really rare!" He ran a hand through the silky material. "My Dad had to use one for work once. That one was all worn out though, this one looks brand new."

"The note it came with said it belonged to my Dad." Harry said absent mindedly. He was amusing himself by draping the cloak over one arm and waving it in front his face. It gave him an unnerving feeling.

"Must be a really good one then," Ron mused, "We should test it out." A smile stole onto both of their faces.


End file.
